Joy Departed
by devilshelmets
Summary: Thousands of years had passed since pieces of Castiel's grace had been lost on the battlefield. The pieces had slowly returned to him as they were released from their temporary earthly hosts - all but one. One piece remained, sealed inside a small vial, hidden away in a cheap porcelain statue that would one day end up in the hands of a heavily pregnant Mary Winchester.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Sam didn't remember the fire. The only information he had ever gotten about the accident was what his big brother, Dean, had told him, and that wasn't a lot. He knew that the fire had started in his nursery, and that the house had almost burned down to the ground. He also knew that his mother Mary had died in the fire, trying to protect him. He didn't remember her either.

Sam used to dig through his Father's pockets when no one was there, looking for the small crumpled picture of her he knew his father was always carrying; but when he had cut himself on a sharp piece of glass in the pocket, he had been busted by Dean and told never to touch his father's things again. Now Sam only had his imagination, and when he was playing with the little toy soldiers Dean had given to him, he always pretended to be on a mission to save Princess Mary from the evil fire monster.

Sam rolled over in the creaky motel bed and looked at the alarm clock. Today had been a good day. It was May 2nd, Sam's 5th birthday. Earlier his dad, John, had dropped him and Dean off at a chain fast food place called "Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie", before he had left to "do business", as Dean had called it. Sam knew not to pester Dean for more information about what "business" was supposed to mean; it always made Dean angry, and today was Sam's birthday and he was hoping that Dean would play with him in the arcade; and once John had left Dean had played with him. Dean had thrown balls at a line of tin cans and managed to hit them all, but when he was offered a price he had refused and moved on to the next stall. The man in the stall had noticed Sam eying the line of presents, and offered him to pick one instead of his brother. Before Dean could notice, Sam pointed at a blue book that read "Fairy Tales and Poetry by H.C. Andersen", and quickly stuffed it under his shirt.

Despite having run around and played all day Sam wasn't too tired now that he was back at the motel. Dean had told him to go to bed, but he still had leftover energy from the fun he had had earlier. Sam moved over again and was now facing Dean and John who were sitting by the table.

Sam didn't dare open his eyes, but through his lashes he got a glimpse of his dad writing in the journal he always carries around, which even Dean was forbidden from touching. Dean sat on the other side of the table cleaning "something" off one of John's knives. "Something" was at least what Dean would call it if he asked, but Sam wasn't stupid, he knew what blood was.

Sam heard dad whisper something to Dean, but despite his best efforts, Sam wasn't able to make out more than a few words like "signs", "children" and "fire". When he heard the last word a shudder ran up his spine.

After a while John got up from the chair and Sam quickly did his best to pretend to be asleep. John grabbed his heavy leather jacket from the bed next to Sam's and walked towards the door.

"There's a nest out east I've gotta go check on", said John in a stern voice," I'll be back tomorrow."

Dean had gotten up from his chair as well, stood straight and looked up at their dad. "Yes sir," he said.

"I left some money on the bed, should be enough."

Sam peaked through his lashes and saw a couple of notes on the bed next to him.

John moved towards the door, but before he opened it he turned towards Dean again and pointed a finger at him, "and you remember what I always tell you, right Dean?" he said slowly, spelling it out, "Watch out for Sam. Don't let him out of your sight."

"Watch out for Sammy," Dean repeated.

Sam didn't understand why Dean had to look out for him; he wasn't planning on running anywhere.

Sam heard a click as the door closed behind their dad and opened his eyes to look at his brother slump back in the chair.

Sam sat up in the bed and looked at his brother's blank expression. Dean didn't smile a whole lot, but Sam remembered earlier, at Plucky's, when his face had broken into a full grin as he scored full points in an arcade shooter game. Sam thought Dean's smile had magical abilities. When Dean smiled it was almost as if invisible small people pulled at the edges of Sam's mouth, making him smile as well.

"Didn't I tell you to go to sleep?!"

Sam jumped at Dean's sudden loud voice and looked down at his hands.

"Have you been listening to what we were saying?"

Sam shook his head but Dean didn't look convinced.

"I've told you not to listen!"

Sam pulled his blanket up under his chin and continued to avoid Dean's angry gaze. A minute ticked by before Dean sighed and sat down in front of Sam. He placed two of his fingers under Sam's chin and lifted his gaze to meet his own.

"I've told you not to listen," he said in a much calmer voice, "It's for your own best, alright?"

Sam nodded and pointed at the money on the other bed.

"Yeah, dad's leaving, but he'll be back tomorrow so don't worry."

Sam looked at Dean questioningly, but Dean shook his head and pushed Sam down so he was lying again.

"Go back to bed."

Dean was about to get up, but Sam held onto his shirt.

"Come on Sammy."

Sam pouted and let go of his shirt. Dean carefully tugged the corners of the blanket under Sam and went back to polishing the knives. After 20 minutes of listening to Sam twist and turn in his bed Dean gave up and dropped down next to Sam.

"You want me to stay a little?"

Sam nodded and moved over to make more place for his big brother.

Dean crossed his arms and looked down at Sam, who was staring at him.

"What?"

From underneath his pillow Sam pulled out the blue book he had gotten earlier at Plucky's.

"What's that?" said Dean and snatched the book from Sam's hands.

"Fairy Tales and Poetry by H.C. Andersen", he read out loud.

"Did you steal this?"

Sam quickly shook his head.

"Sam… you remember what dad told you about those stupid fairy tales?"

Sam looked up at Dean, and gave him the look that Sam knew would make him surrender.

"Alright!" Deans said, "I'll read it if you promise to go to bed, you understand?"

Sam smiled eagerly and nodded.

Dean turned the first page over and read "The Little Mermaid".

"Way too girly Sammy, forget it," he said and started to flip through the book. After a while Sam grew impatient and stuffed his fingers into the book at a random page.

"The Dying Child?" said Dean, "really?"

Sam tapped the page impatiently and leaned his head on Dean's shoulder.

"Don't blame me if you have nightmares", Dean mumbled before he began to read.

"The Dying Child" was a fairly short poem, but it did its deed, when Dean finished Sam was snoring quietly on Dean's shoulder. Dean knew that he was supposed to get up and finish cleaning his dad's things, but didn't want to move Sam when he had just fallen asleep.

Without anything else to do Dean opened the book again and reread the poem. Dean thought it was just like Sam to pick some sappy book like this.

Making sure that Sam was in deep sleep Dean flipped back to "The Little Mermaid" and started to read. He had never told Sam about it, but this story was one of Dean's few memories of his mother. She had read it to him when he was about Sam's age, and he remembered clearly how tears had welled up in her eyes when the mermaid turned into foam.

As he read his eyes got heavy and before he knew of it he had fallen asleep with the book in his hands.

The next morning Dean woke up with a start. He hurried to the window and checked the salt lines he had forgotten to redo last night. He let out a relieved sigh when he saw that they were left untouched. It was a luck that John hadn't come back early, as Dean knew he would have been furious with him for falling asleep without finishing the cleaning or checking the devil's traps.

Dean's stomach rumbled. He opened the motel fridge, but it was empty aside from a couple of his dad's beers. He then went over to Sam who was still sleeping, pulled the covers off him and clapped his hands.

"Rise and shine Sammy!"

Sammy shot him an angry glare and yawned.

"Gotta go grocery shopping, so get ready," said Dean while putting on a fresh pair of socks, "your clothes are in the duffel."

Sam dressed and Dean went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and to fetch Sam's toothbrush.

"Open up," he said.

Sam obeyed, and let Dean brush his teeth, but when Dean hit the back of Sam's throat he gagged and angrily pushed his hand away.

"Would you quit complaining!?" Dean yelled and brought the toothbrush back to Sam's lips.

After five more minutes not only Sam's teeth, but also his cheeks, nose, and Dean's hands, were completely covered in toothpaste.

"You're such a baby," Dean said and wiped his hands on the bed.

Sam went to the bathroom to wash his face, and when he finished he went back into the main room where Dean was standing impatiently tapping his foot next to the door.

"Seriously Sammy you'll never grow if you keep eating like that."

Dean was pushing Sam in the shopping cart, and the last ten minutes Sam had been stubbornly pointing at the cereal aisle. Every time they got near Sam would forcefully turn Dean's head towards his favorite brand and mope loudly.

"Okay then!" Dean rolled his eyes, "but then you won't get any juice, you'll have to drink milk!"

Sam smiled and stood up in the cart to pick a box.

On the way to the counter Dean threw a can of SpaghettiOs and a loaf of bread next to Sam in the cart and pulled out the money John had left them the night before.

"Alright, what have you got there", the lady at the counter smiled at Sam and Dean as they placed the items in front of her.

"Is that all hun?" she asked, Dean grunted absentmindedly in response.

"Alrighty," she beamed and started typing the prices on the cash register.

The cash register made a loud noise and printed their receipt, but before handing it over she asked him where their parents were with worry in her eyes.

"They're waiting in the car ma'am," Dean sent her one of his most charming smiles. She didn't look too convinced but gave him the receipt nonetheless and smiled at them all the way out of the store.

"Nosy," Sam heard Dean mutter as the door closed behind them.

Back at the motel Sam quickly finished a bowl of cereal and went over to play. Dean collected their bowls and started to do the dishes when he felt someone tug at his shirt. He turned around and saw Sam holding out one of his little toy cars.

"I don't have time," said Dean.

Sam tried to open Dean's hand to forcefully place the car in his palm, but Dean raised his hand out of Sam's reach.

"I have to do the dishes Sam; I don't have time to play."

Sam pouted but went back to play by himself.

Dean faced the sink again and poured hot water over the knife he hadn't gotten to last night. He scrubbed at the dry blood left on the blade, turning the soap water in their bowls red. When he was satisfied with the cleanliness of the knife he picked it up to admire it in the light, and that was when he felt something hard press against back. He jumped and dropped the knife, cutting the tip of his thumb in the process. He instinctively turned around, ready to strike, but it was just Sam again, mimicking a gun with his hands.

"Pew", Sam whispered.

"Alright," Dean rolled his eyes and made a gun gesture with his left hand while sucking on his bleeding right thumb.

"Bang!" he said and pretended to shoot Sam. Sam dramatically jumped to the floor, avoiding Dean's bullet, and ran behind the bed.

"You can't hide!" Dean exclaimed and pretended to look for Sam with narrowed eyes.

Sam appeared from behind the bed, "pew, pew!"

"Argh, you got me!" Dean got down on his knees as if in pain and started coughing.

Sam laughed and jumped on the bed in victory, but was interrupted when the motel phone rang.

Dean quickly got up and grabbed the receiver, "Dad?"

Sam moved closer to the phone, trying to listen in on the conversation, but Dean placed a hand in his face and pushed him away.

"Yes"

"He's right here"

"Okay…"

"Sorry sir."

"I understand"

"Yes sir."

Sam heard the beeping noise of the phone being hung up on the other end and looked up at Dean.

"We've gotta go Sammy, dad won't be able to come back to pay the motel for another night so we gotta go to Bobby's."

Sam liked Bobby, he always told Dean and him to call him "Uncle Bobby" and let them play outside in the scrap yard, but Dean didn't look very happy.

Dean threw all their belongings into the duffel and ushered Sam out of the door.

Outside the sun was shining bright and it was warm for early May.

Sam only had one pair of shoes; a pair of thick army colored boots, and his feet were completely soaked in sweat from walking on the hot pavement. He tugged at Dean's firm grip on his hand trying to get loose as his fingers were sweating profusely from the contact, making them itch.

"Quit pulling," Dean mumbled and gazed around for a bus stop, but there were none as far as he could see.

"Excuse me; do you know where the nearest bus stop is?" Dean asked a couple with a child around Sam's age carrying maps.

"Where you going son?" the man asked.

"Sioux Falls."

The man raised his brows and said: "Isn't that a lil' too far all by yourselves?"

"No sir our uncle will pick us up there", Dean lied.

"Well we wouldn't mind taking you there, would we honey?"

"No of course not!" the man's blonde wife smiled at Sam and leaned over, "And what is your name sweetheart?"

Sam quickly jumped closer to Dean and held on to his leg. The woman's smile faltered but she continued to look at Sam.

"His name is Sam", Dean cut in.

"You want candy?" the freckled kid next to the woman said.

Sam just shook his head and gestured no with his hands.

"Mom", the kid said, "Why can't he talk? Mom is he stupid?"

"Thomas!" the woman yelled embarrassedly and hit the child softly over the head with the back of her hand.

"We're leaving," said Dean and angrily dragged Sam away from the couple.

He heard the woman yell something at them, but ignored it. He was walking so fast that Sam had a hard time keeping up, and kept stumbling over his feet.

"Just because he isn't talking right now doesn't mean he won't ever learn", Dean muttered to himself under his breath.

"He'll have a breakthrough and it will be just fine."

Dean remembered there had been a time when he had forgotten how to speak as well.

Dean hadn't managed to ask the couple for directions, but he wouldn't admit to Sam that he was lost. He thought about what dad would do if he arrived at Bobby's and they weren't there. He shuddered.

After having walked around for almost 3 hours Sam suddenly dropped to the ground and refused to walk anymore.

"Get up Sam!" Dean roared but Sam just shook his head and refused to look at him, he untied his army boots and took them off.

"Put your damn shoes on!"

Dean grabbed Sam's angles and started to forcefully put the boots back on, while Sam was hitting him on the back with all the might his small body could master.

"Quit it!" he yelled and slapped Sam on the side of his face.

For a moment Sam was quiet, but then he started wailing loudly.

Dean looked around to see if anyone was watching and pointed a finger at Sam: "Be a man," he hissed and dragged Sam to his feet and started walking. When he didn't hear Sam's little footsteps follow behind him he stopped and sighed. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Sam was sitting on the ground again, sobbing quietly. Dean kneeled, placing one knee on the ground and gestured to Sam to come over.

"Come on, it's okay, get on."

He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Sam's hands on his shoulders as he crawled onto Dean's back. He felt Sam's tear wet cheek soak up his t shirt, but he didn't mind.

"I'm sorry Sammy, I shouldn't have hit you," he whispered.

Sam folded his hands around Dean's neck and nuzzled his face into his shoulder. Dean smiled and Sam was soon fast asleep.

Dean walked for another two hours before he finally found a sign that read "bus station". He asked the bored-looking bus driver in the nearest bus how much it would cost to get to Sioux Falls; when he looked over Dean's shoulder at Sam's sleeping body he shrugged and told him to get in. It was a small bus with space for about 20 people; Dean went all the way to the back and gently placed Sam closest to the window. He then went back to the bus driver and handed him the rest of the money, the bus driver looking at it and sighed, but didn't tell them to leave, so Dean explained to him where to drop them off.

Sam woke up with a yawn and found that he was sitting in a bus, leaning against the warm window. He wiped a bit of drool off his cheek and looked around. Dean was sitting next to him with his head back and his mouth open, sleeping soundly.

Sam didn't recognize the houses outside as the bus drove down a small shoddy looking street, and the signs moved by too fast for him to read, even though he had gotten pretty good at reading since Dean had begun practicing with him. Reading was one of Sam's favorite activities. Dean would pick one of his comic books, read to him slowly and point at every syllable so Sam could learn how they were pronounced by looking at them. Dean rarely agreed to play and maybe it wasn't so much the reading part that Sam liked, but the part where Dean would sit with him for hours. Dean seemed to enjoy the reading sessions as well, especially when John wasn't there; he would give the characters funny voices and make long rhetorical breaks.

Sam looked at his brother and saw that his expression had changed a bit, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows. Sam thought that he might be having a nightmare. He bowed down to search the duffel that was lying beneath their feet, but found that Dean was holding on to one of his belt loops with a finger. Instead he reached behind his back and pulled his blue fairy tale book out of his small backpack. He laid it in Dean's lap and placed Dean's hand on the cover, hoping it would somehow help him sleep better.

"We're there now son."

Dean woke up surprised to find that he had fallen asleep again. Lately, he had been falling asleep at times and in places he wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to keep watch, to be alert and ready at all times, for the things he knew were out to get them. He knew that his dad would be disappointed if he found out that Dean had fallen asleep in a place as public as the bus. Annoyed he pushed Sam who woke up with a start. Dean held on to Sam's hand and quickly made it for the door, not noticing the blue book that fell from his lap onto the floor.

When they stepped outside Sam looked back into the bus one more time and noticed the book lying on the ground, he wrestled himself out of Dean's grip, jumped into the bus as the doors were closing and ran over to pick up the book.

"Sam!" Dean yelled as the doors closed behind his brother.

The bus started to move and Dean ran after it knocking on the windows in panic.

"Hey little man weren't you supposed to get off the same place as your brother," said the bus driver who had noticed Sam standing alone between the seats. He stopped the bus again and let Sam off.

"Are you trying to get me killed you idiot!" Dean yelled at Sam as he caught up with the bus, but when he saw tears starting to well up in Sam's eyes he sighed and said: "Don't worry about it, we're okay, you're okay now, just… don't do that again."

With his blue book in hand he followed his big brother down the barren road to Bobby Singers house.

"If it ain't Sam and Dean Winchester," said Bobby with raised brows "didn't know you boys were swinging by today, would've cooked something up."

"Dad's in the middle of some business out east," said Dean.

"I bet he is," Bobby said under his breath and ran narrowed eyes down the road the boys had come from. When he didn't find anything or anyone he shook his head, "well come on in."

Sam dropped his backpack and pulled off his shoes in front of the door and ran into his favorite part of the house, the office, with all its weird books he couldn't read. He had been prohibited from touching any of the books on the top shelf and from opening any of the drawers since last time, when Dean had busted him playing with a little vial filled with what looked like bright white liquid. Dean had quickly slapped the vial out of his hands and the vial had fallen to the ground and broken into the pieces; but instead of seeping through the wooden planks, the strange shiny liquid had seemed to take off through the ceiling. Sam had tried his best to apologize to Bobby, but Bobby had just sighed and told him that he had no idea what had been in the vial anyway.

"Dinner's ready in the kitchen," said Bobby and patted Sam on the head.

Since Sam hadn't eaten anything but one bowl of cereal all day he was starving. He ran around Bobby and into the kitchen where Dean was already sitting and studying one of his dad's guns.

"Put that thing away will ya?" said Bobby.

"Dad told me to ask you to take me target practicing."

"Well now's dinner so get that thing off the table," Bobby grunted.

Both Sam and Dean ate for a person two times their sizes and Bobby wondered when they had last had a proper meal. When they finished eating Dean insisted to do the dishes although Bobby had tried to tell him that he'd rather he played a little with Sam; but Dean was stubborn and instead Bobby went upstairs to prepare a place for Sam and Dean to sleep.

On the first night Bobby had waited up in case John would call, but three days passed without any signs from him. Bobby didn't mind having the boys there, he had grown fond of them over the years, and truth be told wouldn't mind taking them on full time. He was well aware of the fact that he wasn't their father, but at least he had a stable and somewhat secure place for them to stay. But Bobby knew how John would react if he offered to take them in, and thus he had never tried. He would react just as he did every time Bobby voiced his concerns for Sam and Dean; he would get defensive and end the conversation before it could even begin.

On the fourth day Bobby took Sam and Dean outside to play soccer, Bobby and Sam against Dean, and team Sam were currently losing 7 to 2. Dean had gotten a little too spirited, kicked the ball right in Sam's face whereafter Sam had cried for 5 minutes. He hadn't stopped crying before Dean had come over and assured him that there were no injuries.

Dean was in the middle of upping his score with another point when he saw John leaning against the Impala under a couple of trees. Dean immediately straightened his back and greeted his dad.

"You been good?" John asked walking towards Dean.

"Yes sir!" Dean responded.

"Nothing happened on the way here?"

"No sir, I watched out for Sammy and went straight to Bobby's as you told me."

"Good, well done," said John and patted Dean once on the shoulder, "we're leaving so go get your stuff." Dean smiled proudly and ran towards Bobby's house.

"And where the hell have you been?" Bobby fumed.

John looked at him for the first time since he had arrived, "You know what I've been doing."

"What the hell has got you so busy you couldn't even pick up a god damn phone?"

"Not in front of Sam, Bobby," John hissed, but Bobby only raised his voice.

"The boys show up on my front porch half starved to death and now you tellin' me not to ask any questions?"

John took an angry step towards Bobby, but before he could open his mouth to spit something back at him Dean had reappeared.

"We're all ready sir."

"Get in the car," John hissed.

The smile disappeared from Dean's face and he quickly obeyed.

John sent one last glare at Bobby before he turned around and walked towards the car as well.

"Come on Sam!" he yelled.

Sam lingered, he stared between his dad's back and Bobby's angry expression. When Bobby saw that Sam was looking at him he tried to give him a reassuring nod.

Sam ran over and picked up the ball that Dean had left, and handed it to Bobby. Bobby kneeled in front of Sam and ruffled his hair, "see ya soon boy."

"Come on Sammy!" he heard his big brother yell impatiently from the open car window, "and bye Uncle Bobby!"

Sam walked quietly towards the car and got in next to Dean. John started the engine and took off with a roar.

Bobby waved until the car was out of sight, then he sighed, shook his head, and threw the soccer ball into the open hut of one of the scrapped cars. 

**Authors note:**

Hey, this is my very first piece of fanfiction - so please be gentle.

I'd like to warn you that English is not my native language (truth be told i've only studied it for six years) and therefore I will make mistakes, sorry! I don't have anyone to proofread it aside from me, so you're more than welcome to point out any mistakes. I'm also sorry about any britishism, we're only taught British English at my school.

This fic was planned and sketched some time ago, before season nine, and any new information given in that season will not be taken into consideration. Probably.

I'd describe this as an AU taking place in the pre-series SU universe. Many major things follow canon, but some things have been changed as well.  
If you're confused about anything (or just want to talk/ comment on something) you're more than welcome to contact me on here or on tumblr where my username is Devils-helmet.

So this chapter was pretty Sam POV, but the whole story will not be like that. Most of the story will be written in Dean's POV (not in first person), and there will be no strange POV jumps so don't worry ahaha.  
I'd also like to warn you that the warnings are to be taken seriously, although they won't come to play just yet.  
And uh yes, Castiel will not be making an appearence just yet either (don't worry though, this is actually a destiel fic so he will appear lol).  
It was not supposed to be a wincest fic but you can read it in whichever way you want mate.

Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Sam woke up to a delicious smell. His stomach rumbled. He squinted in the morning light and looked around to find the source of the more than appealing smell. Last night Sam had gone to bed without dinner, and he was more than hungry now.

"Happy birthday!"

Someone slammed him hard in the back and he coughed. It was his brother Dean, who was standing on the other side of the bed with a plate full of scrambled eggs.

"Dean…what?" he said heavy with sleep, and that was when he remembered. Today was May 2nd, his birthday. It being his birthday wasn't usually a big deal to Sam, as they rarely did anything interesting. Sam got up on his elbows to receive the plate from Dean. He smiled at Dean's attempt at writing "nine" in ketchup on top of the eggs.

"Yeah uh... we didn't have any candles or anything so," Dean said and turned away.

"It's great Dean. Thanks."

Dean scratched the back of his neck and turned back towards the hotel kitchen. A couple of minutes later he reappeared with another plate full of eggs.

"Dad, breakfast's ready," Dean tried to carefully nudge John awake, but he didn't stir.

"Dad, it's scrambled eggs, they're good."

John started to move. He let out an annoyed sound and glared at Dean out of the corner of his eyes, "can't you see I'm trying to sleep? Just put 'em in the goddamn fridge," he spat. Dean could smell the alcohol on his breath.

He quickly removed his hand from John's shoulder and took a backwards step towards the wall.

"I'm sorry sir," he said without looking into John's eyes. He stiffly walked back towards the kitchen with the plate in hand.

"And get me a beer while you're there!" he heard John yell in his morning raspy voice.

Dean searched the fridge, but knew there would be nothing to find in there. Last night John had come back from a hunt in Windom that he hadn't allowed Sam and Dean to participate in. He had been gone for 10 days and had returned late last night. When he had arrived back at the hotel he had already been drunk, but he had still continued to drink until he fell asleep in front of the TV. When John had come close to tumbling over, Sam and Dean had moved him onto the bed. John's body had been heavy with deep drunken sleep and when they finally managed to drop him onto the bed, they had both been covered in not only their own, but also their dad's sour-smelling sweat.

Dean peeked over into the sink and discovered that John must have drunk an entire 6-pack of beer all by himself last night.

"You were right," Dean jumped at Sam's sudden appearance behind him.

"Huh?" said Dean.

"The eggs, they were good," said Sam and smiled. Dean raised his eyebrows when he saw that Sam was carrying a half empty bottle of beer in his hands.

"Dad won't notice if you fill the rest up with water," he said and handed Dean the bottle. Dean fumbled absently with the golden amulet Sam had gotten for him last Christmas, while he filled the bottle with water. He ruffled Sam's hair as he passed him and went back into the main room to give John the bottle of thin beer.

John waved his hand impatiently and Dean gave him the beer. While he watched John chug down the liquid with closed eyes, he started to get nervous, nervous about what John would do if he noticed that he had put water in his morning beer.

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam who was leaning against the doorframe. Almost as if he had read his mind, Sam gave Dean a little reassuring nod and signed thumbs up without raising his hand.

John finished the beer in one go and lazily dropped back onto the pillow. Dean let out a relieved breath and relaxed visibly.

"Dean, car needs cleaning," John mumbled and turned onto his side, facing away from Dean.

"I'll do it now sir."

Dean didn't mind cleaning the car; he had always found it strangely satisfying. Dean loved cars, all cars, but to him this was not just a car, it was his home, his friend, and she was the one steady presence in his life, aside from maybe Sam. He wanted to treat her right and was gentle as he scrubbed her headlights clean of insect goo.

He watched the way the water collected itself into little round droplets on top of the car's slick black paint, as he ran a wet piece of cloth over it in careful circles. He only stopped cleaning when he caught sight of his own green eyes reflected in the dark surface; he found it distracting, annoying, frustrating even, to look at himself for too long and often caught himself squinting when the reflection got too clear. This time though, it was Sam's face that appeared on the car.

"Need help?" he asked.

"Nah, almost done," said Dean and threw the dirty piece of cloth into a bucket of water, "how's dad?"

"Still sleeping, probably won't move anywhere today," Sam muttered and kicked a couple of pebbles under his feet. Dean watched him for a quiet minute before he said, "hey Sam?"

Sam looked up and Dean licked his lips. He continued, "I have an idea."

"An idea?" Sam repeated slowly.

"Yeah, get in the car."

Sam furrowed his brows, but did as his big brother said and started to open the door to the driver's side of the car.

"No the other side," said Dean impatiently.

"Dean, what?" Sam was starting to dread what Dean was planning on that made for it to be that important that he got the driver's side.

"Come on," Dean pushed.

Sam sighed and entered the car from the other side.

Sam knew that Dean would never do anything that would get them in danger - at least not on purpose.

Dean was far from careless when it came to Sam's safety, and he wasn't stupid; he was just... impulsive and stubborn when he meant he had gotten a good idea - Sam thought while he held on to the sides of the car seat so tightly that his knuckles turned white, "dad is going to kill us for stealing the car!" he yelled.

Dean turned his head away from the road, something Sam really wished he'd stop doing, "that's where you're wrong Sammy, dad's going to kill _me_ for stealing the car - you'll be just fine," he snickered and passed a little red Honda so fast that Sam couldn't help but let out a little yelp.

"Do you even have a license!?"

"Don't need any of that official bullshit," he grinned and stroked the steering wheel, "and don't I always keep you safe, huh?"

"Are you talking to me or the car?" said Sam. Dean snorted loudly. "And you still haven't told me where we're going!"

Dean smiled smugly while doing a left turn, "shut up, you'll love it."

Sam decided that he might as well try to sleep.

Several hours later Sam woke up as the car came to a halt in a big, busy parking lot.

"Where are we?" he asked groggy with sleep.

"Can't you tell?", said Dean, "Disneyland, stupid!"

"We're in California," Sam's eyes widened as he looked at his surroundings, "what the hell Dean!"

"Ah shut up, I saw you look at that commercial," said Dean, "Come on Sammy, it's your birthday." He pinched Sam's shoulder and left the car. Sam scratched his forehead and sighed, but opened his door and followed.

Sam had never been to a theme park, the closest he had ever been was "Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie", where he had been taken a couple of times when he was younger. In the beginning he had liked the visits, but then Dean had stopped playing with him, and he had come to realize how scary clowns actually could when you were all by yourself. The thing about Disneyland that had appealed to him was actually that, judging by the commercial, there didn't appear to be any clowns.

They got in unnoticed by sneaking through a staff entrance. Dean picked the lock in no time and together they kept watch. They found that sneaking into Disneyland while avoiding getting caught by any guards wasn't that different from sneaking into an abandoned building while trying not to get caught by ghosts, and therefore managed easily.

They tried to slip as casually as possible out into the restaurant, which the door led to, and when no one seemed to notice they couldn't help but laugh.

"Awesome!" Dean grinned as they left the restaurant and got a first view of the huge theme park. Next to him Sam was standing with his mouth agape.

"It looks just as the commercial," he said, amazed.

The first thing they tried was the Ferris wheel. Sam didn't understand why Dean had protested as much as he had. When Sam had asked him if 'he was scared', his ears had turned red hot and he had forcefully pulled Sam onto the Ferris wheel by the neck of his shirt.

"Of course I'm not scared!" Dean said stubbornly, but instead of listening to his words Sam looked at Dean's hand that was nervously tapping away on his thigh.

Dean tried his best not to show it, but he was, and had always been, deadly afraid of flying - afraid of anything that took you high up in the air, really. It was something he couldn't tell anyone, especially not Sam who was looking fearlessly and eagerly down at the buildings under them.

"Dean have you seen the castle!"

"Yep. Great Sammy," Dean tried to keep his voice under control as he looked anywhere but down at the castle. He almost cried out in relief when he felt the gondola reach the top and start going down again. When they were one fourth from reaching the ground Dean collected enough bravery to tear his eyes away from the roof of the gondola and look over at Sam who was almost glued to the window.

He couldn't help but chuckle when he saw the innocent smile on Sam's face as he took in the entirety of the Disneyland Park. He remembered back when Sam didn't smile or talk very much at all; that had all changed when a wendigo had tried to break into the car where Sam was waiting, while John and him had been away to look for that same wendigo. He had yelled Dean's name so loudly that it had actually startled the wendigo enough to run away, even before John and Dean had crashed through the trees. Since then Sam had spoken, but it was also since then that it had been impossible to keep Sam in the dark about what their dad did when he went away to "do business". They had tried in the beginning, but Sam wasn't stupid, and he definitely hadn't believed it when Dean had told him that it had just been a bear he had seen in the forest. He had figured it out quickly and now he refused to be left behind. The worst was though, when the questions about their mother's death had started. Without neither Dean nor John's knowledge, Sam had dared opening John's journal while no one was looking - and even though John had been angry and yelled at him, he hadn't backed down before he had gotten what he considered proper answers to his questions. Dean wished Sam could have kept his innocence a little longer.

"That was fun!" Sam exclaimed as they left the gondola. Dean felt slightly dizzy and mostly just wanted to kiss the ground he stood on.

It was when they were looking for a place to eat lunch that Sam had heard it. Two girls around Dean's age were talking about a supposed haunting inside Disneyland, and before Dean could stop Sam to tell him that they were probably just talking about the Haunted Mansion, Sam had run over to question them.

"Did you see the ghost miss?" Sam asked.

The girl on the left, whom Dean stopped to notice had beautiful clear ,dark brown skin and full lips, raised a brow and said theatrically, "oooh yes I saw it, it appeared out of," she took a long rhetorical break before she continued, "no where!"

The girl turned to her red-headed friend and they both started laughing.

Dean licked his lips, stuffed his hands in his pockets and waltzed over next to Sam.

"I'm sorry is he bothering you?" he said with a crooked smile, "were you bothering them Sam?"

"No! Dean, I think they saw a-" but before Sam could finish his sentence Dean had placed a hand on each girl's shoulder and led them away from Sam.

"Hey!" Sam yelled and ran after Dean and the girls.

"Maybe you ladies should show me where you saw this… ghost?" Dean said locking eyes with the dark haired girl, "it was so scary!" she giggled.

"We didn't bring any salt rounds Dean," Sam whispered to Dean's back while trying to keep up. Dean glared at him over his shoulder.

The Haunted Mansion was, as Dean had expected, not actually haunted. It looked just as one would expect a haunted house to look like, if one didn't know that ghosts could haunt any house; once, his dad even had to take out a ghost that was haunting a public restroom.

Something Dean hadn't expected was though, that a very living actor in costume would jump out from behind a broken piano, just as Dean was trying to collect enough bravery to take the dark haired girls hand, which resulted in Dean clocking him one right in the nose. The actor had held on to Dean's wrist as he took him to one of the guards. When the guard asked to see Sam and Dean's tickets they were kicked out and told never to come back again.

Sam had quickly fallen asleep in the car on the way back to the hotel in Nevada, after Dean had retold him what happened in The Haunted Mansion, and they had laughed about it for ten minutes. In the silence that appeared after Sam had fallen asleep, Dean started to grow nervous about the things he had told himself he wouldn't think about for the sake of giving Sam a good birthday; what if John had woken up from his alcohol induced coma and noticed that they were gone? And more importantly, what would the punishment be? Dean bit his lip, but after a while he came to the conclusion that whatever it may be, it would be worth the little smile on Sam's face as he snored peacefully next to him, breathing little circles of steam onto the window.

Hours later Dean arrived at the hotel, he parked, and woke Sam up by gently shaking him. He opened the car door and got out, locked the car and looked over at Sam who stood frozen in place. Dean followed his line of vision to the place where John was standing with his arms crossed. John started to slowly walk towards them, his face unreadable. Dean mostly wanted to turn around and run away, but he knew better and remained where he was.

John's face was illuminated as he stepped into the light from the street lamp, but his face was still cold and blank. Dean tried to swallow the knot that had gotten stuck in his throat, "I'm sorry da-"

"Shut your mouth Dean," John cut him off. He moved close to Dean, towering in front of him. He raised his hand. Dean braced himself, but John's hand stopped midair.

"Keys. Dean," he said firmly.

Dean searched his pocket for the car keys, but when he finally found them he accidentally dropped them onto the ground. He quickly got down on all four to pick them up. He slowly raised his head to peek up at John. He immediately looked down again when he saw his dark expression.

"We're leaving", he heard John say from above him, "Get in the car Sam."

Dean heard the sound of footsteps and collected himself, got up, and handed the car keys to John.

"Where are we going sir?" said Dean, but John didn't appear to have heard him and Dean fell silent.

It was morning when someone finally said anything again. Dean hadn't been able to fall asleep, and he jumped a little when John suddenly turned around to tell him that people had been experiencing violent electrical surges and that all cattle around the city had been not only killed, but seemingly exploded where they stood.

"Demons?" said Dean.

John nodded, "strong ones."

"You think it might be…?" Dean whispered under his breath.

John's mouth turned into a tight line as he looked back onto the road darkly, "maybe."

John checked them into a motel called Knight's Inn, in Cedar City, Utah and told Sam and Dean to stuff every weapon they thought might come in handy on a demon hunt into their green duffel.

Before they left the motel John turned around and pointed a finger at Sam and Dean.

"Alright boys", he began and looked from one boy to the other, "this might be the biggest thing we'll ever do - so I expect you to behave like adults."

"Yes sir," they said in unison.

They drove to the outskirts of the city in silence.

"We'll walk from here," John said and withdrew a sawed off from the duffel, he threw the gun at Dean, who caught it with a thud, and gave Sam an old looking knife.

"It's iron."

Sam nodded and flipped the knife expertly in his hand, getting into the right position.

Dean could taste the sulfur in his mouth. As they got closer to the mansion he had to force himself not to drop the gun and use both hands to shield his nose. The smell was so intense that his eyes started watering; he looked over at Sam who was blinking wildly to clear his eyes of the uncomfortable burn.

"Why the hell did no one complain about this sooner," he whispered to Sam.

"Dean, look at the other houses"

Dean looked down the street. The curtains had been pulled in every single house as far as he could see, and there didn't appear to be any shadows moving behind them, even though it was noon Sunday, and yet there were cars parked by almost every house.

"Weird," he said out loud.

He almost walked into John's outstretched arm as he stopped them two houses before their target mansion.

"Follow me - and be quiet," said John.

Sam and Dean followed John into the backyard of one of the neighbor houses, they walked as close as possible to the bushes separating the two houses, and kneeled under one if it's many covered windows.

"Dean, you remember what I told you about cases like this?" John whispered while keeping his eyes fixed on the window.

"…watch out for Sam?"

"Not that!" John hissed and looked at Dean for a split second before going back to stare at the window, "if you see yellow - shoot, shoot as many times as you can, no matter who the rest of the face belongs to."

Dean swallowed and looked back at Sam who was kneeling quietly behind him, "but-"

"No 'buts' Dean! I need to be able to trust you," John was now looking at Dean, "can I trust you Dean?"

"Dad-"

"Yes or no Dean?" said John.

"Yes sir," Dean gulped.

"What was that?"

"Yes sir!" Dean repeated more firmly.

They slipped into the mansion through the back door. The door had been unlocked, which was usually not a good sign.

"Dad maybe this is a-". But Sam didn't get to finish his sentence before the entire mansion shook violently and the door slammed close behind them. They all three turned around, John tried to kick the door - but it didn't budge.

"Brace yourselves," said John and cocked his gun - but the gun was immediately ripped out of his hands and thrown against the wall, as was Dean's sawed off, only Sam managed to hold onto his weapon, which he quickly hid behind his back.

"Well, well, well if it ain't the Winchester trio," a tall, black haired, Asian woman with a brash smile appeared from the other end of the room.

"Who the hell are you?" John sneered.

The woman raised her brows mockingly and pointed at herself, "who, me?" her eyes flashed black, "I'm the least of your worries, Johnny-boy."

"Demon!" John yelled and charged her, but before he could get anywhere near, she sent him flying across the room and into the wall with a flick of her hand. The woman laughed and turned to Sam and Dean. She leaned over to look at Sam's face, "you must be Sammy," she pinched his cheek with two fingers and slapped him lightly with a wide grin on her face, "aren't you just edible".

While the woman was looking at Sam, Dean started to edge towards the guns near the wall.

"Not so fast Dean-o," she said and threw him into an old TV standing in the middle of the room.

She walked towards John and pulled him up into a sitting position by his hair, "you really shouldn't have come here today baby."

She raised her hand, about to strike, when John yelled, "now Sam!" and Sam buried the knife he had been hiding behind his back in the woman's neck.

She let out a strangled scream and staggered backwards.

"You… little…. bitch!" she managed to spit out, choking on her own blood. She turned towards Sam, but before she could do anything John started to chant: "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio-"

The demon fell to her knees, "don't. you. dare."

"Humuliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt." The demon screamed while John continued to chant,

"It doesn't matter Johnny… they're already here," she said, black smoke oozing from her mouth. "Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica." The demon screamed loudly, but her screams turned into laughter as the building started to shake again.

"Dean, Sam, run!", John yelled. Dean took Sam's hand and ran pass the bleeding demon. John's eyes widened as he yelled the last words of the exorcism, "ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus, audi nos!"

The demon smoke disappeared between the planks in the wooden floor, leaving behind a flaming circle. John went over to the now still body. He checked her pulse and found that the previously possessed woman was alive - but barely. She was bleeding profusely from the wound in her neck, but John didn't have time to take care of her. He had heard what the demon had said, 'they're already here', and quickly got back up on his feet and started to run towards the door Sam and Dean had disappeared behind, but just as he placed a hand on the doorknob, the door behind him burst open and two big men with jet black eyes walked through.

"We have to go back to dad!" Sam yelled, but Dean held him back.

"No he told us to run so we run!"

Sam pulled at Dean's hands, but his grip was too tight, "what if something happened to him!"

Dean licked his lips and for a while he just looked at Sam, then he nodded, "alright, okay, let's -"

Dean screamed in agony and fell to the floor.

"Dean!" Sam yelled and ran to where his brother was twisting and turning, seemingly in pain. "Dean what is it!?" he cried desperately.

"Over…there," Dean grunted with clenched teeth, before his eyes rolled back in his head. Sam turned around so quickly that stars appeared before his eyes. By the window a tall blond man was standing with his arm stretched out towards Dean's now unconscious body.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled and the demon's hand snapped to his side. The demon furrowed his brows. He then looked at Sam and his expression brightened in what looked like understanding.

"Ah… yes," he said in a low soft-spoken voice.

The demon slowly walked towards him, but Sam was ready. He kicked the demon's knee cap as hard as he could, but the demon didn't flinch. Sam heard a horrible crunching sound and felt pain flow from his toes to the rest of his body. At least 3 of his toes were broken.

"I would… advice you against… doing that," the demon said slowly.

The demon reached towards Sam's face. Sam clenched his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable pain - but it didn't come. Instead he felt soft fingers trace over his cheekbones and down his chin. Sam flinched and tried to move away, but in a blink of an eye the demon's large hand was around his neck. Sam felt his feet leave the ground as the demon lifted him by his neck, he kicked and twirled the best he could but it was of no avail. Sam's vision blurred. He could hear a loud thumping sound inside his head as it got harder and harder to breathe.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the demon lift his other arm. Sam felt a sharp stinging pain as the demon left a small cut on his cheek with his sharp nails. The demon moved Sam's kicking body closer to his own. For a brief moment Sam thought the demon was going to kiss him, but instead, the demon slipped out his tongue. Sam let out a cry of disgust and embarrassment when he felt the demon's tongue come into contact with his cheek, licking at the wound and slurping up the blood that ran down his cheek. The demon's eyes rolled up in ecstasy and he moaned loudly.

"You truly are…" he said and locked eyes with Sam. The demon's eyes flashed yellow. Sam froze, but then he screamed. Sam felt something burn in his veins and suddenly he was free and the demon was up against the wall in the other end of the room.

"You!" Sam yelled, his blood bubbling.

"No… I'm… Semyaza… but he'll be happy to hear about your developments, and when time comes…" the demon let out a horrible screech of a laugh.

Sam didn't understand what the demon was talking about, all he could think about was the brief flash of yellow and how he wanted the demon to suffer. And for some reason he couldn't explain, he knew just how to make the demon suffer. He had forgotten everything about the fact that he was a small 9-year old, and in what Sam thought best could be explained as 'tightening mental muscles he never knew he had' he made the demon cough and spit out blood onto the ground.

Sam heard a familiar voice behind him, but couldn't quite remember who it belonged to. He tightened the muscles further and the demon's screeching laughter sounded even louder as black smoke started to ooze from his ears and nose.

"Sam!"

Sam turned around, annoyed about being interrupted, and saw a bloody man stand behind him with wide eyes. He blinked, and then he realized that the man was his dad.

"Dad…" and then his vision faded to black, the last thing he saw was the demon smoking out and escape through the window. He passed out where he stood.

When Sam woke up they were back at the motel. Dean sat on the bed next to where Sam was lying. He looked tired and he had a couple of bruises here and there, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Sam let out a relieved sigh.

John was pacing back and forth in the middle of the room, but when he saw that Sam had woken up he rushed over and grasped his shoulders.

"What did the demon tell you Sam!?" he yelled and drops of spit landed on Sam's cheeks. Sam flinched violently and cleaned the spit off, he didn't understand why, but the feeling of disgust spread itself through his body.

"I-I don't know," Sam stuttered. He really didn't. The last thing he remembered was the demon lifting him up by his neck and then the rest was fuzzy.

"What do you mean you don't know!?" John shook Sam violently and his head lolled back and forth. He felt weak. His throat burned, it hurt terribly as John shook him, and tears starting rolling down his cheeks.

"Dad, please!" Dean cut in desperately. John stopped, only now realizing what he was doing.

"Go get ready for bed," John said to Sam who quickly jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom.

When the door clicked John turned towards Dean, "how could you let it escape?"

"Dad I'm sorry I-", Dean started but was cut short.

"Almost too late… the demon… Sam… Mary," John slurred, caught in a frenzy.

"…dad?" Dean tried.

Suddenly John was in his face, the whites of his eyes red and glassy with rage, "do you want Mary's sacrifice to be in vain!?"

Sam finished brushing his teeth. He could hear agitated voices in the main room, but when he left the toilet Dean was alone. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands.

"Where did dad go?" Sam asked.

Dean jumped a little, but quickly collected himself and sent Sam what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Went to get some food," he said, and when he spoke Sam noticed that Dean's lip was bleeding.

"What happened to your lip?" Sam reached towards Dean's face to get a better look, but Dean jumped to his feet.

"Nothing!" he yelled a little more angrily than he had wanted to. He took a deep breath. "I mean, yenno, the demons."

Sam furrowed his brows disbelievingly, he hadn't noticed Dean bleeding before he went to the bathroom.

"Dad took care of it so don't worry," Dean said before he turned around and ran into the bathroom.

Sam closed his eyes and tried to replace the uncomfortable feeling he had in his body. He thought of Dean's relieved face as the Disneyland Ferris wheel gondola had reached the ground. Sam knew that Dean thought Sam wasn't aware of the fact that he was afraid of heights. He sighed.

"I'm not stupid Dean," he whispered to the empty room.

**Author's note:**

So yeah here we have chapter two, i hope you enjoyed.

The next chapter will be the last chapter of them as kids, and Castiel will show up in chapter four.

Did you catch who the female demon was?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Dean rode shut-gun next to his dad, one summer-freckled arm hanging out of the window, tapping away on the side of the impala, to the violent sounds of Motörhead's new album 'Snake Bite Love'. In the back seat Sam stared stiffly at the window and pressed the side of his face a little further into the seat - trying to shield at least one ear from the noise.

Dean caught sight of Sam's annoyed expression in the rear-view mirror and started to sing along loudly.

Sam sighed. "I'm trying to sleep"

"Don't be a killjoy Sammy," Dean grinned and bobbed his head to the beat.

"I'm exhausted Dean, lower the volume!"

"Sorry, princess," said Dean and turned the volume down a note.

"And don't call me that!"

"Prefer 'your majesty?'"

"Not about that," yelled Sam.

Dean raised a brow. Sam rolled his eyes and continued, "Well, also about that! But don't call me _Sammy_."

"Why? Never bothered you before"

"Yeah, but I'm not _12_ anymore, Dean," said Sam under his breath.

"Uhu? Could've fooled me," said Dean and turned around to face his brother's small form.

"Shut up you jerk," said Sam and shut his eyes tightly in protest, "I swear something weird happened back there".

Sam's body was still aching. Earlier that day, an otherwise regular salt-and-burn had turned into what could have become a nightmare, when John and Dean had left Sam with a cowgirl's horse, suspecting its saddle to be what the now dead cowgirl was holding onto in the living world. It just so happened that it wasn't the saddle but the horse itself that had been the source of the ghost's power, and if Sam hadn't, and he swore that was what he had done, somehow pushed the horse away from him by extending his hand towards it, it would probably have stomped him to death. He couldn't explain how he had done it though and when he had mentioned it to Dean, Dean had laughed and told him he was crazy, while John was away to take care of the possessed horse.

"What are you talking about?" said John.

"What?" said Sam.

"What 'weird' thing?"

Before Sam could explain, Dean interrupted, "Sam thinks he's Jean Grey."

"Shut up, back there, I made the horse get off me", said Sam slowly, looking down at his hands.

"I am fire! And life incarnate!" said Dean in a dramatic tone.

"Quiet Dean", said John and sent Dean a glare through the corners of his eyes, Dean immediately shut up, "Sam, what do you mean 'you made it get off you'?"

"I don't know… I just… did it."

"You just… pushed the horse off you?" John repeated, "in some kind of… temporary adrenaline rush?"

"Not like that… I did it with", Sam came to a realization, "with my mind", he finished and looked up at his dad in horror. To both Sam and Dean's surprise John chuckled.

"You're imaging things Sam"

"No I-"

"Enough, Sam!" John cut him short, using the voice that the boys knew meant the discussion was over; or that they at least better not try to continue.

"Sleep, you hit your head," he said.

Sam opened his mouth in protest, but stopped when he saw Dean's eyes move wildly from side to side, begging him to calm down. Sam turned violently back onto his side and closed his eyes.

They continued down the highway in silence for another two hours, Dean not daring to even open his mouth. He knew John was agitated. This was something that had happened before.

A couple of years back, Sam had stubbornly held on to the belief that he had seen exactly what happened to a girl they had saved from a skinwalker, in New York, in one of his dreams the night before. Dean remembered how John in the end had snapped. For a brief moment, Dean had been sure that John was going to hit Sam, but in the end he had pointed a finger at him, told him to never mention shit like that again, turned around, and left them by themselves for two weeks.

Dean looked over at his dad who was holding on to the wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Dean licked his lips and gulped when he remembered how cold the New York streets had been that winter, and how hard it had been to collect money for food.

Dean jumped when his dad suddenly started to talk in a low voice: "He isn't normal Dean"

"What, Sam?" said Dean and looked at his brothers sleeping form, "sure he's just going through some kinda phase."

"No, something's wrong with him," said John.

"What do you mean?" said Dean and furrowed his brows.

"There's something dark inside him, I can feel it, gives me the creeps"

"Huh?" said Dean, "Seriously dad, Sammy?"

"Something happened in that nursery."

Dean's eyes widened in shock; John never mentioned anything about what happened 14 years ago. Dean bit his lips, "Did the… did Yellow Eyes… do something to Sam?"

John turned his face away from the road and said, "all I know's that he isn't normal."

"Are you saying Sammy's some kind of freak?"

"I don't know what he is", said John gloomily and made a sharp right turn down the long gravel road to Bobby Singer's house.

In the back seat Sam was staring into the Impala's upholstery so intently that his eyes had started to water.

Dean hadn't wanted to ask where they were going, sensing that John still wasn't in the mood to be questioned; but after the almost 9 hour drive from Wyoming, he found himself in Sioux Falls, more particularly in front of the entrance to Bobby Singer's yard.

Bobby had always taken care of them as kids, when John had a hunt in the area, or simply, when he would be gone for too long for them to be able to afford staying at a motel. Hunting demons didn't exactly come with a paycheck, and most of the money they did earn in one way or another went to ammunition. Dean liked staying at Bobby's. He liked being on the road, he knew that was where he truly belonged, but staying at Bobby's was nice once in a while - and he knew that Sam at least appreciated the breaks. Recently Sam had gotten into his mind that he should 'focus on his studies' as he had put it, which was something that John hadn't been able to approve of at all. The only free time they had from hunting and, occasionally, school, was spent on practicing weapon mastery or read lore. Dean knew that Sam had never been keen on it and that he'd much rather do 'normal kids' stuff', but when he had been younger he had at least obeyed in the end. Now, Sam's refusal to practice was the main cause behind the recently ever more frequent arguments between Sam and John. The fights would always begin the same way; Sam would insist that reading Goethe for his history class was more important than wendigo lore, and the fights would also always end the same way as well, with Sam and John refusing to face each other. Dean didn't understand why Sam was doing this, why he was disrupting the peace and order in their family. And family was all they had, it was the most important thing in the world and yet… Dean looked back at Sam who was still facing away from the front seats, his hands tightly clutched around the backpack Dean knew was full of books. Dean closed his eyes and sighed.

"Wait in the car while I talk to him", said John as the car came to a halt, "You and Sam'll stay here a couple days".

John looked at his eldest son who nodded quietly. He opened the door and stepped out into the fresh night breeze. He walked across the salvage yard that led to Bobby's house and knocked on the wooden door. He was greeted with a shut-gun to his face.

"You expecting anyone Bobby?" asked John and glanced from the tip of the barrel and into Bobby's narrowed eyes.

"Nah, just you," said Bobby after a while.

"You mind if I come in - and to maybe point that somewhere else?" said John and made a gesture towards the gun. Bobby lowered the shut-gun and stepped aside, but continued to glare silently at John. John entered the living room without invitation and started to look around for something.

"'n where the boys?" said Bobby while watching John search his living room. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

"In the car - where are they?" asked John while opening a large cabinet.

Bobby shifted his weight to his other leg, "the boxes?"

"Yes of course, the boxes!" said John impatiently.

John's raised voice didn't faze Bobby, "the kitchen," he said. John passed Bobby without looking at him and stormed into the kitchen. Bobby followed slowly behind him and when he entered the kitchen John already had his hands in one of the boxes.

"What you up to John? Had a peek - those are from ya old house."

"I told you not to look!" John fumed.

"Don't tell me what to do in my own god damn house boy"

John locked eyes with Bobby for a moment before he continued to rummage through the boxes. "It's none of your business".

"Hell it is" said Bobby quickly.

John glared at Bobby, "I'm going to Illinois".

"Don't tell me you going to Pontiac again, Dean didn't talk to anyone for a week after you came back from there."

"I won't take them with me this time Bobby"

"So you think you can take it on by yourself, even though you damn near got yourself _and_ the boys killed last time?"

"I can't ignore it. There was a fire, Bobby. In a nursery. Ten minutes away from where we saw him last time".

"Yellow Eyes ain't coming back there John."

"I have to go".

"And what do you want me to tell the boys if you don't make it back?

"I left some things for Dean," John pointed at a black plastic bag on one of the chairs, "he'll know what to do in case I don't return".

"John, Dean's 19, you can't expect him to follow your ass around like trained dog forever"

"So you think you know what Dean will do better than me?" John still had his hands in the boxes, but he stopped moving and was now looking sternly at Bobby.

"Dean's just a normal boy"

"He is not, Dean's a soldier," John went around the kitchen table and stood in front of Bobby, "you know the life", he hissed.

"Better than you. But it still ain't too late for the boys, they're no soldiers - they're just a couple 'a kids!"

"They're part of this!"

"Mary wouldn't have-"

John gripped on to the collar of Bobby's shirt and slammed him against the wall, "do not talk about Mary as if you know what she'd have wanted," he said below his voice, his face inches away from Bobby's.

"Get. Ye hands. Off." said Bobby and pushed John off him.

"We're leaving," said John and picked up the two boxes and turned towards the door.

"Don't be an idjit," said Bobby and followed him.

John turned around on the porch and stabbed an angry finger at Bobby, "you're not going to tell me how to raise my own damn kids!"

John walked back through the darkness to where Sam and Dean were waiting obediently in the Impala. He opened the trunk and carefully placed the two boxes between the orderly arranged weaponry. He eyed the boxes for a while before he turned around, flung the car door open and turned the key in the ignition so hard that the Impala let out a violent roar and both Sam and Dean jumped.

"Sam, Dean we're leaving!" he said.

"But dad, Uncle Bobby-", Sam began, but was cut short.

"Not up for discussion Sam!" said John with clenched teeth and turned to Dean, "fix us something to eat when we get there, 's bread in the back".

"Yes sir," said Dean, "but dad…can I ask where there is?" he continued after a while.

"Pontiac," spat John.

"P-Pontiac?" Dean gulped. John looked at him sternly.

Sam watched Dean turn his face away from John, towards the window. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were flushed. Sam remembered last time they had been to Pontiac; he remembered the short flicker of yellow and the wide toothy grin on the face of their mother's murderer, just before he had smoked out, leaving only his dead host behind. Sam shivered, but when he looked at Dean, he thought the anxiety he saw in his brother's face seemed somehow different from his own.

They arrived in Pontiac, Illinois after 6 hours of John's reckless driving. Having driven for almost 15 hours straight John was tired and couldn't be bothered to search for somewhere nice to stay. It was early morning and they stopped at the first hostel they saw and booked the only room available, which was a room for two. It didn't matter too much; John wasn't planning on staying anyway.

The walls in their room seemed to have been white at some point, but were now a dirty grayish color. When they turned on the lights cockroaches hid themselves in every corner. John called the local high school, who had taken Sam and Dean in last time they had stayed in Pontiac, and made arrangements for Sam, as they didn't know how long they'd be staying this time. John thanked secretary, hung up, and without saying anything to Sam and Dean he made it for the bathroom with the two boxes he had collected earlier at Bobby's, under each arm.

Dean let out a small gasp and stared at the brightly patterned bed covers that looked like they hadn't been changed in 20 years.

"We're so gonna catch something from this," he said.

Sam rolled his eyes and threw his heavy backpack on top of the bed furthest away from the door. Dean sighed as he watched Sam pull out several thick calculus books from his bag, but when a small blue book fell to the floor his eyebrows shot up, "you still have that?"

Sam blushed and quickly picked up the fairy tale book that had fallen open on a page featuring the title "The Dying Child".

"Does wee little Sammy want big brother Dean to read him a bedtime story?" Dean teased.

"Shut up," he said, and hastily stuffed the book back into his bag.

Dean was midsentence when he heard the door to the bathroom unlock. Sam and Dean watched in silence as their dad slumped down onto the other bed and ran a hand over his face.

"You… alright dad?" asked Dean and sat down next to John. John didn't answer; he looked at his hands, tears rolled down his cheeks and he began to speak into the air in a shaky voice.

"Never the religious type, but when you were born…" he began, having seemingly not registered Dean's question, "Mary she… she insisted on having you both baptized". John covered his face with both his hands and broke down in tears, slowly rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed.

"I'm so sorry Mary," he sobbed.

"It's ok dad". Dean placed a soothing hand on John's shoulder, but upon contact John looked up at him with a frenzied expression, his eyes shot up to Dean's chin length hair that was currently tucked behind his ears, "cut your god damn hair, you look like a fucking sissy," John spat.

Dean leaned away from John and looked down at his feet; but as he did so one lock of summer blond hair fell in front of his face. John shot up, "and where is the food?"

"The food sir?" Dean said without looking up.

"The bread Dean, the bread!"

"I'm sorry I-", but John didn't let him finish, "I gave you a clear order 'fix us something to eat when we get there', you want Sam to go to school without breakfast?" John made a wild gesture towards Sam who was sitting on the bed, mouth agape, but without saying anything.

"I'm sorry dad," Dean whispered.

"Well get to it already!"

Dean immediately jumped off the bed and started to search through the duffel for the bread and peanut butter he knew was there. Behind him he heard John move over into the sofa and mumble, "can't trust you with anything", Dean almost dropped the jar of peanut butter, "Bobby's right, you're no soldier… can't even remember a basic order", he continued to slur, "fucking useless".

"Dean, I can do it myself," said Sam and gripped Dean's shaking hand.

"Don't Sam," he whispered and shook Sam's hands off. Dean looked over at John who was sitting with his back towards them. He licked his lips, applied a thick layer of peanut butter, and handed Sam the sandwich.

"And get some sleep," said Dean.

Dean took off his jacket and fell onto the bed next to Sam's. Sam watched the restless expression on his brother's face. It didn't change even as he fell asleep. The sandwich got stuck in his throat; he swallowed hard.

Two hours later John stirred, "I'll take you to school," he said to Sam who was already in the middle of putting on his shoes. Sam hadn't felt like sleeping, and had instead studied while the rest of his family had been asleep.

"Wait in the Impala," said John.

Sam went over to the door, but before he left he turned around. A ray of morning light shone into the room through the open door and fell on his brother's sleeping form. Sam looked at him with worry in his eyes and closed the door quietly.

Back in the motel room John shook Dean awake, "you gotta pick Sam up later - I'll leave the Impala here".

Dean nodded drowsily, "you'll call, right? If you find anything"

"Be prepared", said John and walked towards the door. He stopped. "And Dean, what are your orders?"

"W-watch out for Sammy" Dean tried, but stumbled over the words. John rolled his eyes and smacked the door behind him.

Sam had a good day at school. It had been a while since he had had any real schooling, and not just Dean's evening physics lessons.

The principal of Pontiac Township High had been in debt to them since last time Sam, and at that time also Dean, had went there and saved him and a couple of students from possession, back when Yellow Eyes was present in the city.

Today Sam had been assigned to write an essay about Edgar Allan Poe by his English teacher, who had recognized him immediately.

He was waving some of his old friends off when he saw the Impala, seemingly empty, parked as far away from the school as possible, while still remaining in the parking lot. He walked over to it and upon further inspection he realized that it wasn't empty, but that Dean was just lying down inside it. He knocked on the window, "what are you doing?" he asked.

Dean jumped, "hey Sam!" he said nervously.

"Are you… hiding?" Sam asked.

"What? No - of course not I'm just… uhh", Sam crossed his arms, "this place just gives me the heebie-jeebies yenno."

Sam raised his eyebrows, "you were fine at the hostel".

"Just get in the car!" said Dean and opened the door to the passenger side.

Sam watched Dean hold on to the steering wheel tightly until the high school was completely out of sight, whereafter he visibly relaxed.

Ten minutes later they arrived at the hostel. As soon as they entered their room, Sam opened his bag and took out the notes he had taken for his essay. He started writing, but it didn't take long before Dean interrupted him. He sighed.

"Hey Sammy?" said Dean, who was sitting in the sofa and playing with one of their dad's knives. Sam looked up, "wanna go out a little?"

"Dean I have homework."

Dean furrowed his brows in amused confusion, "…so?"

"… soo I have to do them?"

"Says who"

"My teachers"

"And who cares what they say?"

"I need to do this"

"Come on it can't be that important," said Dean mockingly.

"Dean, getting recommendations for college is going to be next to impossible the way we live!"

"What's that?" said Dean and stood up.

"College", Sam repeated.

Dean stared at him for a while, flabbergasted, "…college?" he said slowly.

"Yes, college, don't you have any plans?"

"Like for my future and shit?"

"Yes!"

"Course not Sammy, why'd I plan for something that ain't ever happening"

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean's that as long as that bastard is still breathing, we don't have a future outside of this," Dean made a gesture to the knives on the table, "you're not planning anything Sam you're dreaming".

Sam bit the inside of his cheeks and looked away from Dean's gaze. Dean sat back down on the sofa and they both grew silent.

After a while Sam said, "you ever think we're gonna catch him?"

Dean blinked, "course we are," he said quietly and looked out of the window while licking his lips.

"And what then?" said Sam, "what happens to us then?"

"Don't be stupid Sam - there'll always be people to save n things to hunt"

"The family business", Sam sighed and looked down at his homework again. He hadn't written more than a couple of lines.

"Exactly, but hey, I gotta go breathe some clean air", said Dean, "and Sam?"

"What?"

"_Don't _go anywhere!"

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean left the hostel.

Dean entered some bar in the middle of the city. He looked around nervously, but since it was still relatively early, the only people in the bar were a couple of bikers and a group of young people surrounding the pool table. Dean eyed one of the girls; she was short, blonde and fit with muscular thighs and a low cut shirt that showed off her well-endowed bosom.

He ordered two beers in the bar and went over to the pool table.

"Hey," he said to the blonde girl.

"Hey sweetie," she said in a flirtatious voice. Dean caught sight of a big bearded guy who was sending him hateful eyes. Dean grinned at him and he cracked his knuckles. Dean leaned closer to the girl and said, "hey, what you say I beat your friend over there and I take you home?"

The girl giggled and stroked his chin with the tips of her fingers, "honey, it doesn't work like that, if you wanna take me home you gotta beat _me_," she winked.

Dean laughed, thinking that it would be an easy win, but soon realized that the girl knew what she was doing. Dean had plenty of practice from hustling pool, but he had to admit - the girl could play.

It was only from a mix of luck and extreme focus that Dean managed to win. The big guy's face flushed with anger as Dean put his hand on the blonde's waist and led her out of the bar.

"I'm Rhonda," she said.

"Dean"

When Dean had followed the girl, Rhonda, from the bar, home, this hadn't exactly been what he had been expecting. He was lying on his elbows in her bed with his legs spread wide and her hands running up and down his thighs.

"You look great sweetie," she said as she massaged him through the pink satiny material that was covering his erection. Dean bit his lips and held in a groan.

At first Dean had refused when she had asked him to put her panties on; but he had given in when she had bended over and taken them off slowly, giving him a great view of her round ass. All embarrassment had disappeared in his state of arousal and he had quickly jumped out of his own boxers.

She gave him a little lick through the fabric before she grabbed him by his ankles and pulled him down onto his back. She slowly slid the panties down his legs, but stopped when she reached his knees and let them stay there as an elastic tie. She crawled up over him, her long wavy hair tickling his inner thighs, until she was lying on top of him. She smiled at him as she started to move back and forth, giving friction to his now fully erect cock. He moaned and she covered his mouth with her own. She tasted of beer. He cupped her soft breasts with his hands. It had been months since he had been with anyone, and he was afraid he wouldn't last more than a couple of minutes.

She ran a hand down his chest, circled one of his nipples, his abs, until she reached the base of his dick. She gave him a couple of lazy strokes. He felt her suck and nip at his throat and jumped a little when she bit him. Dean tried to reach between her legs, but she held on to his arm, "no, I wanna do you babe," she whispered into his ear.

"You want… what?" he said dazed.

She winked and reached for something under the bed; something that appeared to be a pink dildo, except it was connected to a black harness.

"Is-is that a strap-on?" he stuttered wide eyed.

"Of course it is babe," she said and started to put it on.

"Uhm.." Dean began.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you," she smiled and applied a gracious amount of lube onto her fingers and the dildo. Her smile wavered when she caught sight of his nervous expression, "I thought you… you haven't done this before have you?" she asked.

Dean stared at her and blinked, "I'm not, yenno"

"Hey, I'm a girl," she slapped his arm teasingly, "and it will feel great I promise babe".

Dean bit his lower lip. He nodded slowly, cheeks flushing.

"Okay, yes, do it," he said and got on all fours in front of her.

Rhonda had been careful in stretching him and laughed when Dean had told her to just get on with it. "You're not going to sit straight for a week if I just get on with it'" she had said and added another finger to his hole.

Dean had thought about sex this way before. Fantasies he hadn't admitted to anyone, not even himself, before he was smack in the middle of it. He had been… curious, and it had been close, but he had never carried it all the way with it with anyone or by himself. At first it was uncomfortable, not directly painful, but definitely uncomfortable. The discomfort had slowly disappeared as she had added more fingers. When she could work him comfortably with three of her fingers she pulled out, added more lube onto the phallus and penetrated him. She slowly started to thrust in and out, while simultaneously jerking him off. He had gasped loudly when she hit something inside him that sent a shock of pleasure through his body.

"_Ahh_..," he moaned.

"Feels good, right babe?"

It didn't take many thrusts before Dean reached the edge. His eyes rolled up and he bit his lip as he came hard on her mattress, listening to her whisper encouraging words into his ear.

His arms were shaky and he crashed face first onto the pillow.

When Dean woke up 30 minutes later, the first thing he did was storm for the bathroom. He sat and waited for something to come out, but nothing happened and the feeling of having to use the toilet didn't disappear. Now that he had come down from his high he felt ashamed. He got up, collected his things, and left without a note.

On his way back to the hostel he stopped at a hairdresser's and got his hair cut short.

"And where the hell have you been?" yelled John as Dean entered the room. For a moment Dean was taken aback, he hadn't expected to see his dad again for a least a couple of weeks.

"I've-", Dean began.

"You cut your hair?" John interrupted.

"Yeah, it's better like this," said Dean.

John smiled and Dean gained a little confidence, "I was at a girl's, Rhonda, chick could do things you wouldn't even-"

"Ew Dean, TMI," said Sam from one of the hostel beds.

John laughed. "That's my man," he said and clapped Dean on the back. John went over to the duffel and looked through it. "No more beer," he sighed.

"Hunt's a bust, just a regular old fire - we leave first thing in the morning," he said before he went out of the door, "and oh hey, there's some boxes in the bathroom. Move them into trunk will you?"

"But da-!", Sam called but it was too late, John had already closed the door.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I just finished this…," he said and closed his notebook, "…now I won't get to turn it in".

"Ahw, come on Sammy, for a nerd like you isn't the most important thing that you learned something?"

Sam glared at him, threw his books forcefully into his backpack and ran into the bathroom.

Dean shook his head and turned his attention to the boxes on the table. He knew he probably shouldn't open them, but his curiousity got the better of him. One of the boxes was full of framed photos; the other had papers with burned corners, a shirt, jewelry and a little white statue of an angel.

"Hey, I remember you ugly!" said Dean and smiled, "you used to live in my nursery". Dean played with the statue in his hands.

"The hell…?" he said out loud when he noticed a small engraving on the bottom of the statue. Dean squinted at the text, but it didn't appear to be English - perhaps it wasn't even letters.

He was still studying the statue when Sam unlocked the bathroom door and reentered the main room with slightly glassy eyes. Dean didn't comment on it.

"What's that?" said Sam and reached for the statue.

"Hands off!" said Dean and slapped his hands away. Sam crossed his arms.

"Hey Sam, you know what language this is?" Dean showed Sam the text and Sam reached out again, "Dean I'm gonna need to hold it if you want me to take a look".

"Hmph," said Dean and handed Sam the figure.

After a while Sam said, "I think it's.. I think I've seen this before". Sam went over to the duffel and withdrew a heavy black book. He flipped through the book until he found the page he was looking for and said, "yes, this is definitely it!"

"What, Sam!?"

"It's Enochian," said Sam amazed.

"Excuse me? My Klingon is a little rusty"

Sam rolled his eyes, "it's the language of the Watchers"

"Watchers of what?" said Dean.

"Angels, Dean, it's the language of the angels!"

"And why do you know this?"

Sam bit his lips, "because…I…"

Dean narrowed his eyes and Sam continued, "come on Dean, we see the weirdest stuff, why shouldn't a little good exist as well?"

"Are you saying you believe in angels? In _God?_"

"What's wrong with that?" Sam pouted.

Dean laughed, "ahw Sammy, that's cute, but if God really exists then he obviously doesn't give a flying fuck about us," Dean continued to laugh, "you should go to bed."

Dean put the tiny angel statue back where it came from and carried both of the boxes out to the Impala. He unlocked the trunk and placed them inside. He lingered. He licked his lips and opened the box with the angel statue again. He knew his mum had bought this statue once upon a time. He had a vague memory of a gentle voice telling him that "angels are watching over you Dean". Dean stared at the statue and couldn't decide if he'd rather smash it to pieces or take it with him back inside. He decided to do the latter and hid it under his shirt.

Sam already appeared to have fallen asleep. He made his bed and uncovered the angel statue from underneath his shirt. He turned it a little in his hands. He looked over at Sam and checked once more if he was asleep.

"I've never done this before but uh… here goes… so… hey God, if you really exist… then I just want to tell you, you're a son of a bitch, amen," he chuckled, "this is fucking stupid," he said and hid the statue under his pillow. He turned off the lights and tried to sleep, but he couldn't get the statue out of his mind. He reached under his pillow and felt its cold, smooth surface. He held on to it and began to whisper, "….mom… if you can hear me… if you're watching over us then… could you do me a favor? Help Sam achieve his dreams, will you?" Dean slowly drifted off to sleep, "thanks mom". Dean slept peacefully.

**Author's note:**

And thus the rating goes up to M.

Next chapter: Enter Castiel! (finally)


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:**

Castiel finally appears, woohoo.

**Chapter Four**

"Sam, Dean, wake up," said John and threw the morning paper at Sam who woke up with a flinch.

"What time is it?" asked Dean, yawning.

"Read the headline." John retrieved his journal from their green duffel and started to flip through the pages, "something isn't right."

Dean watched Sam's eyes scan the article on the front of the newspaper, a small crease forming between his brows, "what?" said Dean impatiently.

"Never heard of a virus that could do that," said Sam and looked up at John. John nodded, "6 deaths within the last couple of weeks, no connections between the vics, well, aside from them all living in the same town".

"Well don't mind me," said Dean and fluffed his pillow.

Sam rolled his eyes and began to explain, "between December 28, 2000, and January 7, 2001, 6 people have died mysteriously in small town Brooklin, Maine. Local police have ruled out crime, but suspect some kind of severe, previously unknown, influenza virus, as the victims all showed the same symptoms prior to their death," Sam glanced at Dean from behind the newspaper and continued, "periods of extreme paranoia, night terror, anemia, fever, cramps, and hallucinations-"

"And you think this is our kind of thing because?" asked Dean.

"I'm not done," said Sam, "it says here that 4 of the victims mumbled something about a 'dark shadow' in their head-"

"And then they all died shortly after," finished John.

"So what, you think it could be some kinda curse?" said Dean.

"If it's a curse then there'll be nothing to do," added Sam and looked at John.

"I'm not sure. No matter what we've gotta check it out," said John, "get packing".

They arrived in Brooklin 5 hours later. Dean winced as he stepped out of the Impala and sank through a thick layer of snow covering the street.

"You telling me 6 people died in this tiny ass town the last two weeks?" asked Dean, "What is this, Cabot Cove?"

Sam zipped his coat, ignoring Dean's comment, "maybe we should split up," he said.

John nodded, "we need to figure out the source of the outbreak. Sam, Dean, go look around, I'll check out the bodies."

John opened the Impala's trunk and handed Sam and Dean a pair of fake badges and the duffel. "Call me if you find anything. If it's a curse we need to evacuate before anyone dies again."

John reentered the car, nodded at Sam and Dean and took off.

When John was out of sight Dean turned towards Sam and shivered, "we're gonna freeze to death".

"Quit complaining," said Sam and pointed at the general store across the street, "let's see if anyone's in."

The bell chimed as they entered the small general store.

"Maine. Home of the blueberry pie," said Dean. He smiled at Sam and walked up to the counter where lines of freshly baked pie were stacked high on each other, filling the store with a sweet scent.

"I thought you liked apple?," said Sam, but Dean didn't hear him; too busy picking out the perfect one.

"Don't you think this a little over the top?" asked Sam and eyed the 20-some pies.

"Top awesome you mean," said Dean and searched his pockets for money.

"I doubt that many people come by"

"Yeah, well, lucky I came by then"

"Wouldn't eat them if I was you," said Sam.

"Ahw, come on, no one would ever do that to-"

Sam gave Dean a stern look and pulled him towards the magazine stand, where a teenage girl with a nametag reading 'Maria Hansen' was unboxing the latest issue of the weekly paper.

"Hey," said Sam. The girl jumped violently and cut her finger on the utility knife, "oh! Didn't see you there", she said and stuffed her bleeding thumb into her mouth. She tried to pick the knife up from the floor but her hands were shaky and she kept dropping it.

"Are you alright?" asked Sam and picked up the knife. When their hands touched he noticed how cold her hands were, despite the store being comfortably warm.

"Just a lil' tired - you lookin for anything?" she said absentmindedly. She tugged a lock of hair behind her ear and continued to place the fresh papers in the holder.

Sam pointed at a newspaper that read 'Mysterious Brooklin flu outbreak claims another victim', "it's terrible, huh? All those deaths," he said.

The teenager bit her lip, "took my poor granny".

"I'm so sorry," said Sam and took a small break before he continued, "so you believe what they say - that it's the flu?"

"What do you mean? That's what the doctor said".

Sam removed a glass of canned something from the shelf, trying to seem casual, "so you haven't seen anything strange?"

"Strange?"

"Yenno, cold spots, flashing lights, anything like that?" Dean cut in.

"It's cold everywhere," she said and looked at Dean as if she had just noticed him standing there.

"Right," said Dean, "your grandma, before she died, everything was just - normal?"

The girl seemed to be considering the question before she answered, "it was so sudden. She was fine in the morning but…"

"But?" asked Sam

"But when she came home from the market she just… got sick... fever, cramps and then she… you know. She must have been sick for days though, the doctor says"

Sam locked eyes with Dean for a moment before he asked, "this market, where is it?"

"Down the harbor. We pick up fish for the store there - got the best lobster in summer".

"Thanks", said Sam, "and uhm, Maria, your grandma, she didn't have any hallucinations did she?"

Maria looked up at Sam with big, tired, blue eyes. "no!," she stuttered, "d-did you want anything?"

Sam picked up a newspaper and tried to give her a reassuring smile.

"And one of those pies," said Dean.

When Sam paid for the newspaper and Dean's pie, he thought he saw Maria's eyes flicker to something behind his shoulder. He turned around, but nothing was there. Maria almost threw the remaining cash at Sam before she waved and said, "have a good day!"

"Did you smell that?" asked Sam as they left the store.

"Smell what?" said Dean.  
"Her"

"Not that desperate"

"No I mean", Sam sent Dean a disapproving look, "she smelled rotten", Sam lifted the newspaper to his face and breathed in, "see, this has the same smell", he said and shoved the paper at Dean, who quickly pushed it away in disgust.

"The hell?"

"I think that's what the pies were for. Covering up the smell"

"You think that Maria girl caught… whatever this is?"

"It's possible," said Sam, "we better check that fish market out"

With John having taken the Impala, Sam and Dean had to plow through the thick snow. What should have been a short 10 minute walk ended up taking at least 10 more, as they, on top of everything, had to wait for a wide tractor to get through the ongoing road construction.

'The market' was not so much a market as it was three small houses. Outside one of the houses an elderly man was trying to subdue a dog that was barking aggressively. "Stop it will ya!" he yelled. The dog growled and snapped out after the man's fingers.

"You wouldn't believe it - used to be the nicest little critter," said the man and turned towards Sam and Dean.

"And what can I do for you boys?"

"We're… name's Dean Rossington, this is my colleague, Sam Medlocke. From the health department. Been sent here regarding the flu outbreak," said Dean quickly falling into the role Sam and him had planned on the way there.

"Oh lord, you don't think our fish could have anything to do with that do ya?" asked the man, "cause I'll tell ya what I told the other guys - everyone comes here, been like that forever, and we've never had any problems"

"We just have to be sure, sir, do you mind if we take a look around?"

"No, you do what you have to do!" he said.

Sam and Dean walked across the yard, but stopped abruptly a couple of feet away from the entrance to the slaughterhouse, when a loud high pitched noise sounded from Dean's body.

"Is that the..?" asked Sam.

Dean quickly patted himself down for the source of noise. Inside his pocket the EMF was going crazy. Dean pulled it out and held it in front of his eyes, studying it closely. The red light that usually went up and down in the presence of a ghost was shining continuously, and was making so much noise that Dean's hand was shaking slightly. Across the yard the dog started to bark again.

"Never seen this high readings before," mumbled Dean and shook the small homemade EMF meter.

"You sure it's not broken?" asked Sam and reached for the machine. Dean slapped his hand away and turned around, "'course it's not broken," he said and turned it off and on - but the readings were the same.

"Well I guess this means it's not a curse," said Dean.

"Spirit?" asked Sam.

"Maybe. We should call dad".

Dean handed the EMF meter to Sam and pulled out his mobile phone. He dialed John, who picked it up almost immediately.

"Yeah?" said John.

"Dad, it's not a curse." Dean quickly briefed John on the conversation with Maria form the general store and the unusual EMF- readings.

"You're probably right, curses usually appear in cycles and the doctors say they've never experienced anything like this before," said John, "our next best guess would probably be ghost".

"Yeah that's what we were thinking," said Dean.

"The bodies have already been cremated, but they did tell me that the first person to die, Guy Petersen, died December 28, worked at the fish market. Dean, you stay there, if the readings are as high as you're saying then whatever the spirit is latching onto should be close by."

"Yes sir," said Dean.

"Tell Sam to find us a motel and search for any violent deaths at the harbor on that laptop of his - I'll look into some local history". John hung up.

Dean turned towards Sam, "dad wants you to go do research, I'll stay".

"What?" said Sam.

"Yenno, get your geek on."

"No I mean, we don't even know what we're dealing with for sure, I'm not letting you dig into it by yourself."

Dean quirked a brow, "dude, I'm 21, I think I can handle one ghost"

"Just, don't do anything rash."

"When have I ever-"

Sam crossed his arms.

"Yeah ok there was maybe that one time in-"

"Call me if you see anything". Sam handed back the EMF, turned around and walked back up the small hill to the main street.

Dean opened the door to the slaughterhouse and ran the EMF up and down the many boxes stacked inside. He unlocked a heavy door that took him to the freezer and took a whiff of the fish, but they didn't smell rotten, which meant that the weird smell Sam had talked about didn't come from the fish.

"_ghosty ghosty ghosty_," he said, but the room remained empty.

He left the freezer and went over to check the tables. He studied the sharp butcher knives but they were clean and without any trace of having been used to anything suspicious. The EMF was still making so much noise Dean was starting to worry about permanently damaging his hearing, but when he went down on all four to look for traces on the floor, the EMF literally exploded in his hand.

"Shit," he said, as the shards of what used to be five small red lamps scattered on the floor, "and I had just fixed you". Dean lay down flat on the floor and listened carefully, he couldn't hear anything, but he still had a suspicion that something was down there.

"Hey, old man," he yelled while tapping the floor a couple times with the now useless EMF.

"Yes?" The old man peeked in through the door, "what you doin' down there son?" he asked.

Dean got up and pointed at the ground, "what's under the floor?"

The man furrowed his brows, "down there? Let me see… ah, must be the old caves."

"Caves?" Dean repeated.

"Oh yeah. Used to throw fish turned bad down there when I was young man, back in the 50s".

Dean nodded, "and where's the entrance?"

"You're in bad luck son, poured a good ton a cement over it a couple a weeks ago - safety precautions now that I got my little grandson runnin' around".

Dean bit his lip in frustration, "so you're saying there's no way of getting down there".

"Not that I know of. Not unless you wanna go for a nice cold swim," the man laughed.

"It leads to the ocean?"

"Oh yeah, been under water for years, right over there," the man pointed towards a small bridge and smiled, but his smile wavered when he saw the determined look on Dean's face. "You not thinkin' about going down there are you son?"

"Course not," said Dean. It wasn't that he was looking forward to jumping headfirst into the black deep; but it was necessary, he was sure something was down there and if he didn't go someone would die again, soon, perhaps the old man's grandson or Maria form the general store.

"Good. Take care of yourself alright boy, I'm closin' up for today".

"Yeah sure." Dean pretended to collect his things but as soon as the man had driven off in his small truck, he walked down to the edge and stared into the black water.

"So much for not doing anything rash, sorry Sammy, we just ain't got any more time to waste," he said out loud and moved his shot gun, a crowbar, a couple of salt rounds and other necessities from the duffel into a black plastic bag. He had already tied the plastic bag when he remembered that bringing a flashlight would probably be a good idea. He undid the knot and rummaged through the duffel again. He found the flashlight under that ugly angel statue his mom had bought once upon a time. He picked the statue up and studied it for a while. He looked over his shoulder just in case Sam had decided to come back, but didn't see him anywhere and threw the statue into the bag along with the flashlight.

He tied the tip of the plastic bag to his belt loop, removed his shoes, sighed, and walked out onto the bridge, leaving the duffel behind.

He stood there for a while before he clasped his hands together. "Well uh hail Poseidon holder of the Earth," he mumbled and jumped.

It took approximately one second for Dean to realize that he might be a full-blown idiot. An annoying voice in his head that sounded somewhat like Sam's was telling him that he had made a serious mistake and that he was going to die. It felt like getting burned, like he had just jumped straight into a fire, except it was cold and wet. Goosebumps appeared all over his body and his skin started to prickle as if he was getting stung repeatedly, all over his body, with little, sharp, needles. He searched blindly for the entrance to the cave, but didn't find it. A large wave hit him and slammed his head into the wooden bridge. He opened his mouth to yell out in pain, but only managed to breath in a lung full of icy water. He felt his muscles start to give up. His lungs burned. He lay still, facing downwards.

_"Where the fuck am I?"_ he wondered as the current took him further out. _"Why the hell am I so cold?"_ he thought. He tried to look around but couldn't see anything, so he decided he might as well close his eyes. His body was turning numb and all sounds around him grew silent. He wasn't in pain anymore, he actually felt quite good. Small sparks appeared behind his eyelashes.

A voice called for him._ "Dean!"_ it yelled.

_"Mom?"_ he thought, but it didn't sound like he remembered her voice sounding at all.

_"Dean!"_ it repeated more urgently.

_"What?"_ he answered lazily in his mind.

A great push hit him and pulled him against the sea shelf. Somehow, the hit brought him back to his senses long enough for him to reach forward and grab onto the edge of a hole. He forced himself through and followed his instincts that were telling him to go up. Suddenly he found himself in an underground cave. He gasped for air violently.

"Holy shit!" he coughed.

He tried to stand but was overcome with dizziness and immediately tumbled over. His stomach convulsed, "fuck," he said and puked. He didn't try to stand again for a couple of minutes.

When he gained confidence his limbs wouldn't fail him again he slowly got back on his feet while holding onto the side of the cave.

He fumbled with the plastic bag that was miraculously still attached to his hip and turned on the flashlight. There wasn't anything to see in front of him, but under him there was a thin layer of cement that must have come all the way from the other end of the cave. He started to walk and the cave soon split in two. He looked down at the ground and saw that the cement appeared to come from left. The left cave was much bigger than the one he had come from. He stretched his back, sore from walking hunched over, and took a deep breath through his nose. He shouldn't have done that. He almost puked again when the stench of rotten corpse and moldy fish hit him like a punch to the face.

Cursing any deity he could think of he pinched his nose so hard it was sure to bruise. It took all the self control he could master to keep on walking, but he knew that the smell meant he was heading the right way. When the cave split again he turned right. He looked down when he heard a crunchy sound and felt something splinter under his bare feet. It took him a while to realize that he had just stepped on a pile of bones. "Oh, ew no that's just gross," he said and was about to wipe off his feet when he heard the sound of pebbles fall in the distance. He drew his shotgun, loaded and cocked it but nothing appeared in the darkness. It could have just been the cave settling, but Dean knew that he probably shouldn't bet on it.

He hurried up. The layer of cement under his feet seemed to grow thicker and thicker as he got further into the cave. He kept going until he was met with a wall of cement and boulders. The almost too smooth boulders seemed weirdly out of place, almost as if they had been placed there; he hadn't come across anything like them on his way in. Between two boulders Dean found something that looked like a knife, he picked it up and looked at it in the light from the flashlight. It was ancient and there appeared to be letters etched into the side of it, or no, Dean squinted at the text, not letters - runes.

"huh," he said.

The light from the flashlight blinked and the room turned cold. Dean spun around, gun raised. A few feet behind him stood something he had never seen in his life. It was thin and tall with bones sticking out of its sick, bluish, boiled skin. He thought it kind of looked like a disgusting mix between a wendigo and a kappa, but one thing was sure, it was definitely not a ghost.

The creature started to move towards him slowly. He shot it between the eyes but it didn't flinch.

"Damn it," he said, remembering that his gun was loaded with salt rounds and not real bullets. He fished his pocket and took back every curse he had yelled at the deities earlier when he found a bullet. He reloaded his gun with trained precision and shut the creature again, this time it stopped, lifted a scaly finger to its forehead and scratched the bullet hole. It let out a low wheezing breath, the stench in the room worsened, reaching almost unbearable levels.

"_meiðmar_…_ þyrstr... meiri_…"

Dean backed away from the thing but the cement wall behind him blocked the only other way than right into the arms of the creature.

The thing grabbed Dean by the neck and flung him into the wall.

Sam hadn't been able to do as much research as he had wanted to. He kept getting disconnected from the shitty dial-up internet access that the motel had allowed him to borrow, and he hadn't been able to find any violent deaths anywhere near Brooklin the last 50 years. He was just about to quit trying and go to an old fashioned library when John called.

"Have you figured anything out?" asked John.

Sam sighed, "not yet".

"Me neither. Wasted my time listening to some foreigner talk about Vikings."

"Vikings?" asked Sam.

"Apparently the only thing interesting about this Brooklin town is some old Norse coin found some time in the 50s," said John, "supposedly the only Viking artifact found within the US".

"Where's the coin now?"

"Gone. Disappeared a couple of weeks ago when the owner-". John grew quiet.

"What?!" said Sam.

"The coin disappeared on December 27.," said John.

"One day before the first vic died - you think it's connected?" finished Sam.

"Most likely, but it still doesn't get us any closer to ID'ing the ghost. You tried looking up any Scandinavian deaths, maybe one that fits the symptoms the vics had?"

"Scandinavian…symptoms…," as Sam typed the words into the search bar he was hit with a realization.

"Wait, dad, I think I just remembered something - I'll call you back," he said and hung up.

He erased what he had just written and typed in the word 'draugr'.

Dean was sure he had fractured something, but at least he was still conscious. He stuck his hand into the plastic bag, desperately searching for something he could use as a weapon. He almost threw the angel statue at the monster but reasoned that it would probably only agitate it further. Instead, he found his lighter and a small bottle of ethanol meant for burning bones, in the bottom of the bag; he managed to pour the ethanol over the creature but before he could click his lighter, a cold, moist hand latched onto his wrist and lifted him into the air. The creature used its other hand to hold onto Dean's shoulder and push it downwards, as if it was trying to rip his hand off. Dean thought to himself that that was probably exactly what it was trying to do. He clenched his teeth as the tendons and ligaments in his wrist overstretched, but before they broke completely the monster let go and dropped him to the ground. His hand dislocated with a sick snap. He bit back a cry and got back on his feet. He was now closer to the exit than the creature and with all the haste he could master he ran for it.

He didn't get far before strong fingers tore through the back of his shirt and pulled him back. It pushed him down onto the ground and kept him from crawling away with one monstrously strong arm. Dean tried to kick it but it caught his foot. He looked over his shoulder and could only watch on in horror as it set its teeth into his leg and started to suck.

For the second time that day Dean felt his limbs grow numb.

Sam dialed Dean's number for the seventh time but there was still no reply.

"Damn it Dean!" he yelled and kicked the table after leaving another voice mail. He hurried into his jacket and called John.

"Dad, we need to get to Dean_ now_".

"What is it Sam?"

"I know what we're dealing with, it's not a ghost, it's something called a draugr".

"A what?"

"Remember when I went to that school in Utah, we did an essay on Nordic mythology?"

"Cut to the chase Sam"

"A draugr is an undead, but not like a ghost, there'll be no bones to burn and salt won't do shit"

"A zombie?"

"Sort of," said Sam while running through the snow towards the harbor, "they're corporeal but known for walking through stone. They're born from greed and jealousy and attack anyone they think will steal from their graves."

"The coin, it came from its grave - you think it killed that guy?" asked John.

"Exactly, something must have awoken it. Draugar were once human, but for some reason they didn't pass on properly. They're jealous of the living, once awakened they won't rest again before they've drained the entire town for life, literally, they're leeches, they terrorize their victims through their minds before they suck them dry."

Sam could hear the sound of the Impala roaring at the other end of the line.

"Meet me at the harbor," said John and hung up.

Sam ran as fast as he could. He should have thought of it earlier; the dog, draugar affect animals as well, the smell, the symptoms, it should have been obvious, he should have figured it out, he shouldn't have left Dean behind, he knew he couldn't trust him to not do something stupid.

If Dean was dead it was his fault.

When Sam arrived at the harbor John was already standing there with the green duffel in his hand.

"W-Where's… where's Dean?" asked Sam, out of breath.

Sam looked over John's shoulder and saw a pair of boots by the bridge.

_"Dean."_ Without further consideration Sam kicked out of his own shoes and jumped into the water. Seconds later he heard another splash as John did the same. Together they quickly found the entrance to the cave.

When they surfaced inside the cave they simultaneously covered their noses with their arms.

"It's that smell," said Sam through his jacket. John nodded and started to run through the darkness holding on to the now completely soaked duffel bag. He clicked his lighter, the only light source that had made it through the water.

"Where is he!?" yelled Sam in frustration as they hit a dead end.

"Be quiet and pull yourself together Sam!" hissed John and turned around.

It took almost 20 minutes more before they finally found him.

The draugr didn't appear to have noticed them, but upon seeing Dean's lifeless body Sam couldn't help but let out a gasp. The draugr looked up from Dean's leg; its face was covered in blood.

"How do we kill it," asked John.

Sam blinked, trying to remember, "we uh… we cut the head off and burn the body and head separately".

The draugr didn't seem interested in John and Sam and bowed its ugly head down to start sucking again. Sam shot the creature several times in the chest and head in an attempt to catch its attention, it worked, the draugr let out a high pitched scream and started to walk towards him.

Sam looked at the gun he had in his hand, "iron!"

"Keep shooting at it!" yelled John. Sam emptied two more rounds into the draugr's skull, causing it to stagger. John didn't waste any time and cut the draugr's head clean off its neck.

"Take Dean and go," he said and stuffed the head into the duffel, "I'll take care of this."

Watchful of his leg Sam lifted Dean's limp body onto his back and started to run towards the exit.

Once inside the Impala Sam shook Dean gently but he didn't stir.

"Come on Dean," he said and tied a scrap of his shirt around Dean's bleeding leg. He searched Dean's neck for a heartbeat and almost cried out in relief when he felt a weak thump.

"Get in," said John.

Sam looked behind him and saw something burn by the bridge. He quickly looked back at Dean.

"Dad, he's not waking up!"

"Dean's tough - he'll wake up, now get in before anyone sees the fire!"

Sam got in next to Dean and tried to find the heartbeat again - but couldn't. "He's getting worse; we need to get him to a hospital. Please dad," Sam begged in a panicked voice.

Dean tried to kick the thing again and managed to loosen its grip long enough for him to get up on his feet and run. He ran blindly along the cave wall towards what he hoped was the exit.

Suddenly a light flared on the floor. His flashlight.

"What the hell," he said as he looked around and found himself back in the room where he had first come across the creature. That definitely wasn't normal, he couldn't possibly have been running in circles. He didn't get time to consider it further before he was smacked into the stone floor so hard he wondered how he was still even alive. The monster violently turned him around so he was facing it, its scaly face a few inches from his; he felt its pungent breath on his cheek.

_"So this is it,"_ he thought, _"I'm sorry", _though he wasn't exactly sure who in particular he was apologizing to.

It raised its hand high into the air; he closed his eyes and waited for the inventible strike.

He saw a bright white light.

"Corny," he said out loud. He would have laughed if it wasn't because he a second later felt the world crumble beneath him. Literally. If anyone had asked him later he would have denied it but he yelped.

He fell, and kept on falling, into what seemed to be some kind of endless black hole, he didn't dare look. Suddenly he wasn't falling anymore. Dean thought he must have reached the bottom and just not felt it. He was thankful for his quick death. Dying hadn't been as bad as he had expected.

"You're not dead, Dean," he heard someone say in a deep, gravelly voice.

Dean opened his eyes. Alright so he wasn't dead, but he wasn't falling anymore either, he was getting carried bridal style by someone or something that appeared to be able to soar through the black emptiness. Dean furrowed his brow and tried to make out who the hell was carrying him; but then he remembered that he wasn't a damsel in distress, and if the choice stood between falling to his death and getting carried away like a princess by some supernatural freak, he knew what he'd choose… so he punched the bastard in the face as hard as he could. Dean heard all the bones in his fingers snap and passed out.

Dean had no idea how long he had been out. All sense of time and place had disappeared; he wasn't even sure he was still in the cave, it didn't look like the cave, but then again it didn't look like any place on earth he could think of.

He sat up and peered into the darkness. The only sound he could hear was his own heartbeat thumping surprisingly sturdily in his chest, considered the fact that he was pretty sure he was dead, no matter what the voice had told him. He listened carefully and thought he could hear something else as well; a strange flutter, like a piece of cloth in the wind, or perhaps…wings.

He forced his eyes to the limit, but it was meaningless, wherever he was, was so dark that it didn't matter whether his eyes were open or not.

"You're awake," said the voice. Dean jumped and that was when he noticed that all the wounds from the fight with the monster were gone and that even his fingers seemed to have healed.

A circle of blue fire surrounded him and broke the darkness. In front of him stood someone or something with its back towards him; its arms were stretched towards either side of the circle and from its hands shone a beam of bright white light. Dean squinted at the man… creature, whatever it was, and thought the darkness that surrounded its shoulders seemed, for some reason, particularly black. When the circle was completed the light dimmed slightly, although it wasn't completely dark anymore. The creature turned around and walked towards Dean with long but soundless steps.

Dean patted his thigh for his plastic bag and pulled out a small handgun.

"Stop right there," he said, trying to sound stern. The creature didn't falter. It was now only a couple of feet away from where Dean was sitting and the closer it got the more clearly Dean could see its face. It appeared… normal, human even, but Dean knew better.

"What the hell are you," he spat.

"I'm an angel-". But Dean didn't let it finish and shot it. For a moment it looked down at its chest in what looked like slight bewilderment before it continued to talk as if it hadn't just been shot, "I'm an angel of the lord".

Dean's eyebrow quirked, "right, and what the hell would an _'angel of the lord'_" he put force on the last part, "be doing in a cave in Nowhere, Maine?"

The 'angel' tilted its head, "Dean, you're not in a cave. You're in the hospital recovering from injuries brought upon you by the draugr".

"Huh?" said Dean, "wait, the what?"

"The creature. It's gone; I have smitten it." The supposed angel stared at him. Normal functions such as blinking didn't seem to concern it and Dean felt his eyes start to water trying not to give in.

"Uhu, is that so. Thanks for that," said Dean. He wasn't sure if the angel either didn't notice or simply didn't care about the sarcasm in his voice; it nodded and continued to stare blankly at him.

"And this," Dean made a gesture towards his perfectly healed leg, "that was you as well?"

"I was not able to heal you completely, though you should be able to walk when you wake up," said the angel.

"What do you mean by 'when I wake up'?"

The angel squinted, "Dean, you're dreaming, the draugr had poisoned your mind."

"We're in my head? And how the hell do you know my name?" asked Dean.

The angel didn't answer but began to walk closer to him again. Using his hands Dean pulled himself backwards but was stopped by the ring of fire. The angel slowly dropped down on one knee right in front of him and started to reach towards his face. Dean leaned back as far as he could without getting scorched and moved his head away from the offending hand. Before the angel could harm him he shot it again.

"I'm not going to hurt you," it said.

"Yeah right, then what are you doing in my head to begin with? Sure as hell didn't just come to save me," said Dean.

"I do not understand?" said the angel.

Dean let out a short bark, "you've got to be kidding me".

"I did come to save you," it said and tilted its head again.

"_Why?_" said Dean, surprising even himself with the harshness in his voice. The angel's hand was warm on Dean's cheek. It moved its face so close to his that their noses almost touched and for the first time Dean noticed how brilliantly blue its eyes were.

_"Blue?"_ Dean thought.

"Back then, in the water, that was you," Dean stated.

"Yes," it said.

Dean huffed, "right, so suddenly angels care about me".

"We have always cared about you".

Dean tried to push the angel away but couldn't move it an inch, "ha, not in my experience," he said bitterly, "now get _off_ me".

The angel finally seemed to understand his cues and stepped back a little and removed its hand. It looked down at the ground and said, "I don't understand. Why did you-"

But Dean never heard the end of the sentence before someone shook him awake.

"The hell…" he said groggily and frowned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone turn a noisy, beeping, machine off.

"We have to go," said the person.

"Dad…?"

"Get up," said John.

"Yes sir…" Dean got up as fast as he could and almost fell off the bed with dizziness. He blinked a couple of times, "where am I?" he said.

"The hospital," said John, "get your stuff". He left the room.

Dean looked down at the IV in his hand. He pulled it out slowly while biting the inside of his cheek and let it flop down onto the floor. He collected his clothes from the chair across the room and was about to leave when he noticed the angel statue standing on the nightstand next to the bed.

"_Sam…_" he sighed. He grabbed the statue and hid between his clothes.

Carefully, he sneaked down the hallway, trying not to get noticed by any hospital staff, and almost missed Sam who was sitting in the waiting room, nervously shaking his leg.

"Sam, come on!" he whispered.

"Huh? Dean?" said Sam.

"Quiet!"

"There's no way you're ready to go yet!" said Sam in a slightly more quiet voice.

"I'm fine!"

"But Dean!"

"Shut up Sammy"

Sam crossed his arms but followed Dean out of the hospital to the parking lot where John was waiting in the Impala.

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Sam when Dean almost fell down on to the passenger seat. Dean rolled his eyes.

He was quickly overcome sleepiness, but every time he was about to drift off, he thought he saw a pair of icy blue eyes stare at him.

**Author's note:**

The Maine coin is actually a thing that exists, though it's believed to be a hoax :)

Hope you enjoyed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Sam knew Dean had been far from well enough to have been released from the hospital, and that they had only left because John had insisted they get the hell out of dodge, before someone noticed the mess they had made of the harbor back in Brooklin. Dean had slept most of the 6 hour drive, but hadn't looked remotely better when he had woken up.

It had taken almost 10 minutes for Dean to get up the 3 flights of stairs to the unit in an old abandoned apartment in New York City, where they were currently staying. Dean had refused any help on the way up and had instead held on to the cold railing with both hands. If he hadn't looked so pathetic Sam would probably have thought of some way to tease his older brother, but when Dean slipped for the fourth time he forgot about all the insults he had made up in his mind.

At first Dean had tried to look down at his feet to make sure he walked straight, but the sickly yellow and green check pattern on the floor had only made him feel even dizzier.

"We're almost ther-"

"Shut the fuck up, Sam," hissed Dean. He looked up after John who was standing with his hand on the handle of an open door and tabbing his foot impatiently, with the duffel bag under his arm.

They entered the unit. The people who at some point had lived there appeared to have tried to shine the place up a little with some flower patterned wallpaper, but now it was discolored and peeling off in most places, revealing the cold, gray, concrete wall behind it.

Dean flipped a switch, but as expected nothing happened. He looked up and noticed that instead of a lamp, two ripped off cords hang from the ceiling, "_well, that's just awesome,_" he whispered. Dean eyed a lonely refrigerator standing in the corner but decided it was probably best not to open that. Instead he went over to a green single sized bed, tried his best not to think about anything that started with the letter 'b' and ended with 'edbugs', and sat down.

John threw the duffel over next to Dean and spread a large map of Bronx out on the table. With a focused expression he drew a couple of dots and lined them.

"What's up?" said Dean from the bed.

"Shifter activity," said John and drew another dot.

"But I thought we ganked them all last time?"

"Must be some kinda nest somewhere near". John taped the map to the wall. He looked at the connected dots and scratched his chin.

"Wait, since when do shifters nest?" said Sam and walked up next to John.

"It gotta be, there've been three suspicious deaths and 9 robberies where all the convicts say they were somewhere else when it happened," said John, "and this is just the last couple of weeks".

Dean tried his best to stay focused on the conversation but found it hard to concentrate. He had only meant to shut his eyes for a couple of minutes, but was soon fast asleep.

"-I won't be gone long," said John. He opened a box of specially made silver bullets and pocketed a handful.

"You want me to come with?" asked Sam and looked at his brother's sleeping form out of the corner of his eye. John followed his line of vision, "just stay, give him another hour, and then go earn some money, alright?"

"Yes sir," said Sam. John tied a silver knife to each angle and left with a nod at Sam.

Sam turned around and looked at Dean. Now, a day later, Dean's bruises had gotten worse to look at, they were now a dark purple and covered the most of the left side of his face. But still, Dean _had_ been lucky. In the car, he had done some more research on draugar, they were rare, almost exclusively appeared in Scandinavia, and out of anything Sam could think of, aside from maybe demons, they were particularly nasty and strong. That Dean had gotten away from one of those without breaking a bone was really a bit of a miracle.

Dean rolled onto his side and placed his head on the duffel. Sam looked at his watch, it had already been 15 minutes since John had left, and Dean wouldn't be ready to go out in 45 minutes. He considered leaving a note and going out to get money by himself, but decided he didn't want to deal with Dean's anger if he woke up before he could get back.

Sam went over to the table and opened his backpack. He remembered having his own backpack when he was little, but it hadn't been before he had started high school that he had gotten a real bag for school. Before that, he had shared the duffel with Dean and John, left what wasn't too important in the Impala, and otherwise used plastic bags. He ran his fingers down the side of the brown bag. It wasn't anything special, and he was pretty sure it hadn't been procured in a strictly legal fashion, but he liked having his own bag.

Without anything better to do, he emptied the bag on the table and started to sort through his things. He found a couple of papers that were covered in what looked like blood, he couldn't really remember, crumpled them together and threw them on the floor. He almost missed the little blue fairy tale book that had been hiding beneath the layer of trash paper in the bottom of his bag. He opened it and scanned the contents. He still had a vague memory of Dean reading to him from this book. He flipped through the book and stopped at a poem called 'The Dying Child' and began to read, but he didn't finish, as something else caught his attention. A little shard of white porcelain lay half hidden beneath a pair of socks.

It took him a little while to remember where the shard had come from, but then he remembered the angel statue that he had picked up from the cave floor next to Dean, and how the angel had lost some of its right wing. For some reason his adrenalin fueled mind had convinced him he couldn't leave it behind.

He went over to Dean and tried not to wake him as he searched the duffel for the rest of the angel statue. He found it, went back to the table and pulled out a small tube of glue used mostly to put the old spell and exorcism books back together. He wasn't sure it would work on porcelain, but thought he should at least give it a go.

In the bed Dean started to stir. He had had a strange dream, it hadn't even really felt like a dream, he hadn't seen anything in particular, he had just _felt_. He had felt warm and comfortable, tranquil, almost. He had had an odd sensation that felt a bit like floating, except it hadn't been wet, but it hadn't been dry either, it had been soft, like down, like wings, yes, like being cocooned in a pair of strong wings. Memories of blue fire and just as blue eyes came to mind and Dean shook his head. He had obviously hit his head pretty hard.

Dean tried to sit up but the room started to twirl. "Wow," he said out loud. Dean blinked and looked over at Sam who was sitting by the table and reading in some book.

"What time is it?" asked Dean and ran his hand down his bruised face.

Sam put the book on US history he had started to read down and turned around, "'s just past noon".

"Where's dad?"

"Went out to do some groundwork," said Sam.

"Well he probably needs our help," said Dean and started to rise from the bed, his knees ached. He bit the inside of his lip and tried not to show the pain in his face.

"Nah, told us to get some rest," said Sam and looked down at his book.

"Uhu?" said Dean with a raised brow, "no other orders, none?"

"No," said Sam with a shrug and pretended to start reading again, "just told us to wait".

Dean walked over to the table and looked at the stacks of books. When Sam noticed his staring he started to put his belongings back in his bag.

"What do you even need all this for?" said Dean and made a gesture at the books.

"Dean, I'm graduating in like a couple of months," said Sam.

"Right… graduation," said Dean, "found a nice dress yet?"

Sam rolled his eyes and turned a page.

"Hey, thought we lost this," said Dean and picked up the angel statue.

"Found it next to you, in the cave," said Sam.

"Huh…" said Dean and turned his back at Sam with the statue in hand.

"What?" said Sam.

Dean didn't reply.

"Dean what!" he repeated.

"Nothing," said Dean and put the statue back into the duffel. "I'm hungry. Wanna go grab some pizza or something?"

Sam gave up pretending to read. "You need to sleep, man," he said.

"It's not even past curfew, mom," said Dean.

"You know what I mean," said Sam.

"Whatever man," said Dean and started to slowly walk towards the door.

Sam got up from his chair, "you shouldn't have gone down there by yourself?"

"What's that?" said Dean.

"The cave, you shouldn't have gone down there."

"And who the hell else should then?" asked Dean, "the job needs to be done, Sam, and you know it".

"Not if it's gonna cost your life," said Sam.

"Do I look dead to you?" asked Dean, "don't answer that," he added.

Sam opened his mouth, about to protest, but Dean cut him off, "alright Sammy look, if I hadn't gone down there some other poor bastard might have been attacked, and unlike me they wouldn't have stood a chance."

"Still, you should have waited for backup, you're not stupid Dean, you knew it was dangerous," said Sam, "you should have waited for me and dad to get there, or is that it? You don't think I'm capable of helping you or something?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "come on, we all just expected a regular old salt 'n burn."

"You could have died."

"Yeah, well, alright, but I didn't so would you quit being such a drama queen?"

"I just, I need you to take care alright?" said Sam.

"Always am-"

"Of yourself," said Sam.

"So are we ordering that pizza by phone or-"

"_Dean_."

"Cut it out, Sam. We're done." Dean turned around and walked back towards the bed. He lay down with his back towards Sam. "And if we aren't getting any grub then I guess I might as well do some more 'taking care of myself'," he said, making air quotes with his hands.

Sam clenched his jaw and didn't reply.

Dean moved the duffel a bit, trying to get comfortable, which was a bit of a feat considering it was filled with guns. He screwed his eyes shut. It took him a while to fall asleep this time.

A cold breeze raced through an open window. Dean woke up, covered in goose bumps.

_"The hell?"_ he whispered. Dean didn't remember falling asleep, John had made it very clear that it was of utmost importance that Dean stayed awake and kept a close eye on Sam, even though he hadn't shared the particulars as to why. He looked over at the window, he was one hundred per cent positive he had closed and locked that same window. He got up, threw the blanket aside, and stepped over to the window, careful not to wake Sam. He studied the lock, it hadn't been broken and the glass in the window was undamaged. He got down on his knees and checked the line of salt he had spread in front of the window, but that too was intact. He cocked his sawed off and gazed out into the night but there was nothing to be seen. The motel parking lot was eerily silent, the only sounds being the wind and the leaves sliding across the pavement.

_"Sammy," _Dean whispered, _"Sammy wake up!"_

Sam didn't reply.

"Sammy!" Dean repeated more clearly, but Sam still didn't stir. Dean moved over to Sam's bed and ripped the blanket aside. A chill ran through his body.

"Sam." he said to the empty bed.

Dean dropped to the floor and looked under the bed. "_Sam_", he ran to the other end of the motel room and flung the closet doors pulled every drawer in the closet out fully,_ "Sam"_, he threw his gun away and started to tear through the spare blankets and pillows throwing them to all sides. He turned around so fast he saw stars and jumped when he locked eyes with someone across the room. His own reflection, reflected in the big corner mirror. He rolled the mirror aside, _"Sam,"_ he said out loud. He ran over to the small kitchenette, almost tripping in his own pant legs and opened the fridge. He pushed its contents on the floor, _"Sam_,_"_ he repeated on and on in his mind, he tossed the trash can on the floor, scattering the garbage around his feet, he opened the cabinet with so much force it fell of its rusty hinges. Sam was not in the room. He kicked the cabinet door and walked back to Sam's bed. He tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat and sat down on the bed. He took a deep breath and studied it closely. He didn't smell sulfur and the bed didn't reveal any signs of a struggle; Sam might only be 6 years old but he was a hell of a kicker and would have put up a fight. The pillow was in place, his stupid little fairy tale book was even there. He appeared to have just vanished into thin air.

Dean started to pace back and forth in the room, he had no leads to go on. He put pressure on his temples with the palms of his hands and tried to force himself to think. The manager, she might have seen something, he thought. He picked up his sawed off and walked towards the door, but just as he put his hand on the door knob the phone rang behind him.

He picked it up. It was John.

"Hey Dean," said John.

"Hey," said Dean and tried not to stutter.

"Did you put Sam to bed?" asked John.

"Yeah… but dad-" he began.

John cut him off. "Did you watch out for him, Dean?"

"Yes dad but-"

"Good," he said, cutting him off again, almost as if he hadn't heard him, "I'll be back in a couple of minutes".

"Dad!" Dean cried but the line was cut off. He tried to call back immediately, but instead of his dad the off-hook tone started to blare in his ear.

He let the receiver dangle from the cord and went out the door. He tabbed on the bell impatiently until a woman in a nightgown appeared in the door behind the counter.

"Sir, it's 2am could you please-"

"Have you seen my brother?!" Dean interrupted. He couldn't care less about her sleep.

She yawned and Dean clenched his fists. "The tall guy?" she asked.

"What? No!" yelled Dean.

"Please sir, your voice-"

"He's about this tall," Dean made a gesture in the air, "brown hair, sorta brown eyes, white pajamas."

The woman arched her eyebrows. "No, I haven't seen him," she said.

"Anyone else?"

"No sir, the doors are locked after midnight, no one has gone in or out," she said, "And if you don't mind then I'd like to go back to sleep now."

"Unlock the door," he said.

She sighed and eyed him for a moment before she dug out a key from her breast pocket. "The doors won't open again before 4am". He nodded and she unlocked the door. She held it open for him as he stepped out into the chilly night.

"Sam!" he called out.

He ran towards the city and knocked on every door he passed and repeated his description of Sam everywhere he went. No one had seen anything.

"Are you drunk, son?" an elderly woman had asked him. Others had just smacked the door in his face.

He hurried down the street without any clear goal and almost stumbled right into a scarcely dressed woman. "You lookin' for anything, sweetheart?" she said and ran a nail down his chest. He blinked, "my brother," he said, trying to catch his breath.

"What he look like?"

"Small, brown hair, white pajamas," he said between breaths.

"Sorry, ain't seen him," she said. Dean let out a small noise of frustration.

"But I can show you to the station if you wanna put a search out or somethin'?" she said. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit a smoke. "Want one?" she offered. Dean considered for a moment before he shook his head. He had never smoked before and didn't think it was a good time to try it out.

"Let's just go!" he said.

"Aight," she said and started to walk.

The walk felt like forever, he kept looking around and almost walked into the woman more than once. "He ain't just out havin' some fun?" she asked.

"Sammy wouldn't run away," said Dean sternly.

"I get it, I get it," she said.

"Taking care of him's my job," said Dean through gritted teeth.

"You his keeper or somethin'? he challenged?"

"Huh? No he's 6! And he…I just have to find him alright?" said Dean.

She turned around with raised brows. "He 6 years old?!"

Dean just stared at her. "You momma sure fresh - still poppin' babies," she said.

It took them another five minutes before they reached the police station.

"I ain't goin' in there, good luck sweetie. You know where to find me," she said with a wink and a sway and turned around.

Dean went up to the double glass door and pushed. It was locked. He knocked on the glass as loudly as he could until a sour looking man came down the stairs and pointed at him with a flashlight.

"What do you want?" he yelled through the double glass doors.

"Let me in!" yelled Dean back. "I need you to put out a search warrant!"

"Come back tomorrow!" said the officer.

Dean kicked the door when the man started to turn around. "Let me in you sonuvabitch!" he yelled.

"I'd advise you to leave right now sir!" said the officer.

"Why the fuck do you keep calling me-"

"_Dean,_" a voice behind him cut in. Dean spun around where he stood; behind him stood a blue eyed boy who looked to be about the same age as Dean.

"Who the hell are you?" spat Dean.

The boy tilted his head sideways. "You don't remember," he stated.

An odd sense of deja-vu ran through his body and it took him a while to answer. "Remember what?" he said, finally.

The boy didn't answer his question, "what do you see, Dean?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, and how do you know my name?" said Dean. "Yenno what, I don't have time for this". He ran past the strange boy, ignoring whatever he had to say.

Back in the center of the city a group of fancily dressed teenagers stood in front of a nightclub. The music blared through the open doors. They laughed loudly and pointed at him. Dean stopped in his tracks.

"What?" he yelled unafraid.

"He's probably dead," a blonde girl laughed.

Dean felt as if someone had just poured ice water down his shirt. He pulled out his sawed off from his pants and pointed it at the girl. "Where is he." he demanded, but the teenagers just started to laugh even louder. "You won't find him," said one boy.

"It's your fault Dean," said another.

"Shouldn't have taken your eyes off dear little Sammy, should you?" said a redheaded girl with freckles.

"What will dad say?" said the first girl. "You failed Dean. You had one job and you failed."

Dean cocked his gun and shot the girl between the eyes. Blood oozed from the circular wound in her forehead and down her mouth. The blood spurted into the faces of the other teenagers as she let out a high pitched laugh and took herself to the stomach.

Dean felt a warm hand on his shoulder. "We need to leave, Dean".

It was the boy from before. He was standing so close Dean could almost count his eyelashes. "I can take you to Sam," said the boy, seemingly unfazed by their closeness.

"You know where Sam is!?" said Dean.

"Yes, but we must go now". The boy placed two fingers on Dean's forehead and before Dean could protest a sick feeling of sudden weightlessness went through his body.

"The hell was-". Dean didn't finish his sentence. They weren't in front of the nightclub anymore, but standing in a dark, empty hallway. It was so dark Dean wouldn't have been able to tell whether or not the boy was still there, if wasn't because he hadn't removed his fingers from his forehead yet. Dean slapped his hand away.

"How did you-"

"Sam is in there," said the boy and nodded at a door in front of them. Dean looked down and noticed a strange light coming out from underneath the door. "Sam…"

Dean placed his hand on the door knob and raised his gun, ready to shoot whatever was in there, but before he could open the door the boy gripped on to his sleeve.

"You can't save him," said the boy in a monotone voice.

"What are you talking about - let go!"

Dean tried to wrench free of the boy's hand but he was stronger than he appeared. "It's too late," said the boy. "But if you must". He let go of Dean's shirt.

Dean barged through the door. What best could be described as a deformed, old woman in a black cloak was leaning over Sam's still body, sucking some kind of white air out of him.

Dean didn't waste any time and shot the woman, thing, several times in the torso and head. The thing let out a deep yell and fell over backwards. Dean had almost forgotten about the blue eyed boy before he walked around Dean and touched the now dead thing. He seemingly made it disappear in a brief flare of bright light. Dean didn't have time to wonder about that though, he fell to his knees beside Sam and shook him.

"Hey, Sam, you okay now," he said, stroking Sam's bangs to the side, "just wake up now," he said.

"I got here in time, I killed the thing," he rambled, "I saved you alright, it's gonna be fine". He tried to lift Sam, but his body was strangely heavy. "We're gonna go back to the motel and I'll read whatever you wanna hear, okay?" Dean clenched his teeth and tried to lift Sam with all his might but he was heavy as rock. "I'll make you peanut butter sandwiches and dad will roll down the windows on the highway - come on Sam wake _up_". Dean slapped Sam's cheeks but the boy still didn't stir. Dean went quiet for a moment and placed a finger on Sam's wrist, searching for a pulse. When he didn't find one he started to speak again, "you can't do this Sam," he said. "You-"

"Dean-" began the blue eyed boy.

"Get the fuck out!" yelled Dean and violently wiped away the tears that had started to fall from his eyes down onto his cheeks.

"He will not wake up," said the boy in a way too calm voice.

"How the fuck do you know, he's been through worse!" Dean pushed the boy, or tried to anyway. The boy placed a solid hand on each of Dean's shoulders, preventing him from turning back to Sam. "Get off-", Dean tried pushing the boy again but it was as useless as last time, the boy stood firmly in place. "This is not real, Dean. Look closely," said the boy.

"Look at what?" said Dean, choking on the words.

"Look at Sam. Look at yourself."

Dean slowly lifted his hands. They were big and calloused with scars in places he didn't remember getting hurt. "What the hell…" he said. He turned his face towards Sam's body, except it wasn't Sam. Where his small little brother had lain seconds before lay a teenage boy with messy brown hair. Dean blinked a couple of times and looked back at the blue eyed boy, who wasn't so much a boy anymore either. In front of him stood a man with a serious, unreadable, expression dressed in a suit and a beige trench coat. Behind him Dean thought he could see two dark shapes moving slightly, in sync with the man's breath. The man removed his hands from Dean's shoulders, but didn't step back. Dean cleared his eyes with the back of his hand and that was when he noticed that the black shapes weren't shadows, they were wings.

"What the fuck are you!" yelled Dean and raised his gun at the man.

"We've been through this. I'm an angel of the Lord." The man lifted his hand the same way he had done in front of the nightclub. "Remember," he said, but before he could place his fingers on Dean's head Dean moved away.

"If you're really an angel then heal him," Dean commanded.

"Dean I can't-"

"Prove it," he said roughly.

The angel let out a sigh. Its wings curled up tightly against its body and it looked up at him in what Dean thought was light annoyance. "I can't heal Sam, as this is not the real Sam".

"Quit playing," said Dean.

"You must wake up now," said the angel.

Dean stepped forward and gripped on to the lapels of the angel's coat. Having seemingly managed to catch the angel off guard Dean slammed it against the wall with a thud. "If you don't heal him I'll kill you," Dean hissed.

The angel, although slightly shorter than Dean, tilted its head upwards and looked down at him with raised brows. "This is a memory. It has been warped due to the damage your mind took during the meeting with the draugr."

"Draugr…" said Dean slowly.

"Remember," repeated the angel.

For a brief second he wasn't in the dark room anymore, he was in a cave, soaking wet and bleeding from various parts of his body. He was running from something… from a ghost, expect it wasn't a ghost it was a draugr and he was in… Maine… or at least he was the day before because now he was… in New York… and Sam was…

"Sammy is… not dead?" asked Dean.

The angel nodded.

"This is a… this is a memory?"

"Partly."

Dean blinked and more images flooded into his mind. He remembered falling, and being caught, he remembered blue fire and a creature insisting it was an angel.

"I'm dreaming ain't I?" asked Dean.

"You remember." As soon as the words had left the angel's mouth the world around them broke into pieces. Dean braced himself for it to be like last time, but he didn't fall. The room or… the space they stood in wasn't pitch black like last time either.

"Your mind is healing," said the angel.

Dean looked back at where Sam's body had lain but he wasn't there anymore. He turned his face back around and locked eyes with the angel. He looked from its clear blue eyes to its pink, slightly parted mouth in wonder.

"If you don't mind…" said the angel and made a gesture towards Dean's hands that were still holding on tightly to the angel's lapels.

"Uh, shit, right," said Dean and let go. He looked away.

"Never had a dream that seemed this real before," said Dean.

"No. I've been trying to heal your mind but… there is only so much I can do from my current location."

"And where's that?" said Dean sharply.

"Heaven," said the angel with a frown and a tilt of its head. Dean thought it would sprain something soon if it didn't stop doing that.

"Right. Naturally. Where else would you be," said Dean. "And why are you even doing this?"

"Doing what?" asked the angel.

"Healing me or whatever"

The angel looked to be considering its answer, "I'm told it is needed."

"So, what, this is some kind of job?"

The angel squinted at him. "Alright, let's say I believe you. What exactly did I do to get a _'guardian angel'_?" said Dean, adding pressure to the last part, "pretty sure it wasn't something I earned in Sunday school. What's in it for you, huh? What's the catch?"

"In it for me?" the angel stared at him in confusion.

"Yeah, what's your end game?"

"What game?" said the angel.

Dean rolled his eyes, "cute. You know what I mean."

"I do as ordered"

"So you're a servant".

The angel looked slightly offended at that, "I am a soldier," it said.

"Alright, soldier, so what are your orders?"

"To follow God's will"

"Which is?"

"I… am not told in detail," said the angel.

"You gotta give me more than that," said Dean. They stood in silence for a while, Dean waiting for the angel to elaborate, but the angel didn't seem to have more to say.

"Right. Whatever," said Dean. "So what's your name anyway?"

"Why do you ask? I'm a messenger of God," said the angel.

"Just answer the question, goddamn it," said Dean.

"I'm Castiel," said the angel finally.

"Right, _Castiel_, why'd you change the get up?"

"The…what?"

Dean snorted, "the toga thing you wore last time".

"I did not change," Castiel took a break, considering the words, "my get up."

"What? I'm pretty sure-"

"This is your dream. Your will is law."

"Huh…", Dean said, impressed. "Wait, so if I wanted, let's say, if I wanted you to be Caroline Munro in Dracula A.D. you would?"

Castiel blinked, "your will, Dean, not your word."

Dean opened his mouth to protest but before the words could come out a throbbing headache hit him. He screwed his eyes shot and when he opened them he opened them for real. He was back in the cold abandoned New York apartment. He was awake.

He looked around. John wasn't back yet and Sam was sleeping in his chair by the table, with his head in one of his books.

Dean unzipped the duffel bag and fished out the white angel statue. He looked at. He remembered his dream perfectly clearly. More clearly than what could possibly be natural. It hadn't felt like a dream at all. He licked his lips, went over to Sam, stuffed the statue into a pair of socks that were lying on the table, and carefully slipped the statue into one of Sam's big coat pockets.

_

**Author's note:**

My life would have been a whole lot easier if English was my native language and i didn't get sick all the time. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.. please uhm do the review thing.


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